


This is where you fall, this is when you get up

by queenofchildren



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Belligerent Sexual Tension, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, I know nothing about cattle ranching pls don't hate me, Romance, cowboy!bellamy, mention of past Clarke/Lexa, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-06-06 05:39:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6740755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bellamy is a grumpy cowboy, Jake knows a good steak when he eats it, and Clarke makes a decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This was never going to be a _fun_ trip, exactly. But Clarke didn’t think she’d be quite literally down in the dirt. And yet here she is, her new suede boots sinking ankle-deep into mud, wondering what the hell she was thinking when she decided this was the best way to uphold her Dad’s legacy. 

But of course, she wasn’t thinking much at all when she suggested checking out her Dad’s more adventurous investments during the last board meeting – she was acting impulsively, out of anger and irritation and possibly misplaced protectiveness. It’s been six months since Jake Griffin, founder and CEO of Griffin Incorporated, died of a heart attack, and already it seems all his decisions, all his plans and ideas, are up for debate.

And so, after the board of directors spent the better part of an afternoon trying to undo everything Jake has done with the company over the past two decades, they moved on to his slim portfolio of small, harmless passion projects with the clear goal of ruthlessly cutting them off, and that’s when Clarke exploded and snapped that she’d look at the businesses herself.

Which has brought her here, to Middle-of-Nowhere, Montana, with a rented car that she can’t drive properly and clothes that are altogether unsuitable for the wet weather and muddy ground, getting increasingly desperate about this whole pointless endeavour.

It has, at some point, seemed to make so much sense to do this. She needed a break from the city anyway; from running into Lexa in the elevator every other day and functioning only after downing a cocktail of pills and having conversations with her mom that barely extend past questions about the weather and their schedules. Travelling around the country to check up on all the strange investments her Dad made in recent years seemed like a good plan, at the time.

Jake Griffin was never reckless with his investments, but he did always love an underdog. So, apart from the shiny portfolio full of sensible, profitable investments, there was a folder hidden away on his computer with the small amounts he invested on the down-low: in quirky internet start-ups and independent movie production companies, hotels off the beaten track and tiny companies that produce food so healthy and sustainable it’s basically impossible to make a profit off. Those projects weren’t losing the company money, or at least not significant amounts of it, but they weren’t going to make a fortune either. They were his passion projects, Clarke knows, the ones his heart was really in, and maybe seeking them all out is her attempt to reconnect with her Dad, of finally getting a handle on her grief.

So far, she’s not sure how well she is accomplishing that goal. The people she visited before coming here – two start-ups and one health food company, all in the LA area – were all perfectly nice, eager to continue the partnership, but they hadn’t really _known_ her Dad. Apart from one or two short visits, their contact had mostly consisted in Jake transferring money and the companies sending reports.

Her hopes have been higher for the last place, a cattle ranch far, _far_ off the beaten track that her father sometimes talked about. According to the info she’s got, they produce organic meat at exorbitantly unprofitable rates, and it’s pretty clear that, without her Dad’s help, they would have gone under long ago. Clearly, there’s something he saw in that company, and Clarke has been getting more and more excited to see it on the long drive here.

So far, it’s not exactly living up to expectations. As she stumbles towards the dingy little door in front of her, her skepticism grows with every second. Clarke clearly can’t see what her Dad must have seen here. There’s a low wooden building to her right that looks like stables and a squat log house ahead, its tiny windows blind with dust and its scratched door spattered with mud and looking like it’s about to fall off its hinges.

Really, at this point Clarke is hoping she got the address wrong. This place not only looks far from thriving, it looks like she may never make it out again once she sets foot inside. What the hell kind of person is this Bellamy Blake, who, according to her documents, owns the farm?

But she’s here now and she’s not giving up, not when she drove hundreds of miles because the nearest airport isn’t actually _that_ near. Determinedly wading on, Clarke makes it to the house, but just as she ’s lifted a hand to knock, the wooden door swings open with a creak to reveal a brunette woman about her own age, who spots her and promptly starts yelling.

“Bell! Jake’s person is here.” It takes Clarke a moment to understand that the woman isn’t actually yelling at _her_ but at someone inside the house.

“I’m his daughter, actually…”, Clarke tries to interject but is shouted down.

“And she looks kinda scared, probably because your house looks like a serial killer lives here.” Clarke can’t say she disagrees with that judgment.

Finally, the woman seems to be done shouting for the moment and actually addresses Clarke, at a normal volume this time.

“I keep telling him to move the driveway so that people approach the house from the front. It’s much more impressive. But it’s like he doesn’t actually want anyone to come here, ever.”

“That’s ‘cause I don’t.”

A second voice joins the young woman’s from the depths of the house, dark and male and decidedly grumpy.

“Which is why Jake sent someone to check up on us, probably because we don’t make any money. Because, you know, no one is able to find us.”

“I wasn’t…”, Clarke tries to interject, only to realize that clearly, her participation in this conversation is not needed.

“That’s why we’re doing the whole business with the online shop. As soon as Monty’s got the website fixed, we’ll be good to go again.”

The owner of the voice finally appears at the door, tall, dark, and pissed-off, and, well, cattle rancher Bellamy Blake does _not_ look like a cattle rancher. He looks like the pin-up-calendar-version of a cattle rancher, all tousled dark hair and molten eyes and towering muscle in red-and-black checkered flannel.

And then he turns to Clarke, and the magic dissolves.

“So you can get right back to New York and tell Jake we don’t need anyone checking up on us, and if he’s unhappy with our numbers, he can tell me himself.”

And Clarke may not be aware of it, but that remark is what tips her just that little bit closer to madness.

She was prepared to like these people, or at least to work with them. Hell, she’s actually already decided she likes the woman, despite the yelling. But this insensitive remark, clearly meant to show her just how little he cares about her, is inacceptable.

“I’d tell him, but it wouldn’t change anything about my being here, seeing how he’s, you know, dead.”

That at least finally shuts up the incessant bickering.

“He’s what?”

“He’s dead. He had a heart attack last fall.” And now Clarke can see that they really didn’t know, can see the shock manifest on both their faces as the woman’s hand tightens around the doorjamb and the man’s falls heavily on her shoulder, and she feels a little bad for being so blunt about it.

But what’s done is done, she tells herself and paints a determined smile on her face.

“So it seems you’ll have to make do with me.”

She looks him square in the eye as she says it, expression closed-off, but she’s praying he won’t ask any questions and just let her in so she can talk about income revenue streams and quarterly numbers and just forget about last fall, and everything that happened after. And then his face softens, he gives a small nod and steps backwards inside the house and motions for her to follow him.

“We can talk inside.”

The young woman falls into step beside Clarke, introduces herself as Octavia Blake, Bellamy’s younger sister, and starts up a determined stream of small-talk that Clarke is immensely grateful for, as it gives her a moment to get her rattled self back together.

When the corridor opens out into a big, bright living-room, Clarke stops in her tracks, her breath getting stuck in her throat. The wood-panelled room is decorated in a simple, rustic manner, but it’s still the most amazing room she’s ever been in, largely due to the fact that its entire far wall has been replaced with door-to-ceiling windows, allowing an unblocked view of the vista below. And that vista is…. magnificent.

Her mouth hanging slightly open, Clarke keeps walking until she gets to a stop right before the window, drinking in the sight of miles and miles of open land, the plains stretching on in green and yellow and brown until they eventually reach the foot of a far-off mountain range. And then there’s the sky, light blue and endless, and all of it is coming together seemingly for the sole purpose of making her feel tiny and insignificant.

But rather than scare her, the feeling is indescribably comforting, like all her worries aren’t quite as pressing as they often feel in hectic, whirlwind, self-important New York; like her father isn’t quite as irretrievably gone as it feels because surely, under a sky this big, there’s room still for a single soul that has loved no place more than this one.

When she feels a presence next to her, Clarke turns her head to see Bellamy stepping up next to her, a soft, inquisitive look on his face.

“It’s quite the view, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Clarke breathes, not quite trusting her voice yet. “It’s…indescribable.”

She’s not entirely sure, but out of the corner of her eye, Clarke thinks she can see his lips twitch in a hint of a smile, short and guarded, but before she can turn her head and make sure, Octavia steps up between them with a sigh.

“I love living with my boyfriend, I really do, but sometimes I wonder if all the great sex in the world is with losing this view.“

Bellamy makes a face at the mention of “all the great sex“, then turns to his sister with an exasperated expression. "You didn’t _lose_ anything, O. You hang out here all the time.”

“That’s true. And I hope to continue doing so for a very long time.”

Clarke knows the remark is directed at her, a reminder of the battle to come – and she’s pretty sure that’s exactly what Bellamy considers their impending conversation: a battle for his home, his future, his legacy.

Well, there’s no way around that. Beautiful as it is, Clarke can only take an interest in him and his farm if the company profits from it, and that remains to be seen.

As for her personal goals for this trip, Clarke doubts she has a lot of help to expect from him, especially when Bellamy smiles sardonically and gestures in the direction of the table with exaggerated politeness.

“Sure. Let’s get to it – Claire, was it?”

Clarke forces herself not to roll her eyes – she learned that little trick in her very first negotiation seminar; it’ll take more to cow her.

“It’s Clarke, actually.”

Sensing the sudden frosty turn in the atmosphere, Octavia smiles at Clarke and asks with only slightly forced brightness:

“Would you like something to drink first? Tea, coffee, water?”

A beer would be nice, Clarke thinks impulsively but keeps the thought to herself.

“Coffee would be lovely.”

Octavia smiles again and disappears through a door that presumably leads to the kitchen, and Clarke turns to her business partner, who looks much more like an embittered opponent right now.

“Are you quite done making us jump through hoops?”

Clarke arches an eyebrow. “Hoops? Because I took up your sister’s offer of coffee? Where I’m from we call that hospitality.”

“No. Because you came all the way out here just to make us beg for your money.”

“I have no such intentions.”

“You also clearly have no intention of continuing our partnership. So why make such a big song and dance about it? You could have just picked up your phone and told me right away. Hell, you probably don’t even do that kind of thing yourself. You probably have an assistant.”

He says the word “assistant” the way one might say “hired thug”, and Clarke is torn between the urge to let him take the fall for his own rudeness and just confirm what he was assuming, and telling him she came here with every intention of helping him just to watch his face when she says it.

Octavia’s head pops around the corner before she can make a decision.

“Some help with the coffee, Bell?”

Bellamy throws his sister a dirty look but follows her into the kitchen anyway, and it doesn’t take long for them to start a hushed conversation that increases in volume until it’s clearly intelligible where Clarke sits, and she’s not sure whether to be amused, curious, or embarrassed at being forced to eavesdrop like this.

Curiosity, however, wins out, and she leans forward just a little and strains to understand the siblings.

“What the hell are you doing? Stop antagonising our main investor!”

“Please, like she has any intention of remaining our main investor. We were never a viable investment, she was probably sent here to clean up.”

“All the more reason to woo her a little. Maybe we can sway her.”

There was a pause then, probably because Bellamy’s looking for a suitable reply, before he grumbles: “Jake never needed wooing.”

“Jake was _different_.”

Clarke sits up straighter at Octavia’s words, her heart beating faster with excitement. This is it, she knows instantly. The connection to her father she’s been searching for for two weeks now: these people have it.

The revelation drowns out everything else for a few moments, and by the time she’s able to focus on anything other than the rush of blood through her ears again, Octavia and Bellamy are returning, Bellamy carrying a tray with flowery coffee cups and looking ridiculously domestic, Octavia brandishing a coffee pot with a little more panache than seems altogether necessary or sensible.

“Now, how about we just _very calmly_ ”, a sharp look at her brother as Octavia sets down the coffee pot, “talk you through our numbers?”

Clarke has seen the numbers, of course, and has a clear enough understanding of what the problem is with them. But Octavia is trying so hard and her smile is starting to look strained while her brother’s fists tighten and relax convulsively, and Clarke smiles and nods her agreement. She knows what it feels like to have the rug pulled out from under her, and she wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

* * *

An hour later, Clarke is cursing herself for her soft approach. She has now haggled with Bellamy over every single number on their last five yearly reports, and is well and truly done with him.

And yet she tries, more suggestions he’ll no doubt rebuff.

“What about laying off some of the staff, if only for a while?” Clarke looks down at her notes, going through the – admittedly very short – list of names under “Employees”: Nathan Miller, foreman. Zoe Monroe and Nat Harper, farm hands. That’s it. Honestly, it’s a wonder he kept the farm running this long with so few people, and Clarke feels a little bad for even suggesting it.

The feeling increases when she looks up and sees the thunderous expression on his face.

“Of course. That’s what you people always do first, isn’t it? Just fire someone so you can make more money yourself.”

“ _You people_?” Clarke can’t believe the man. “ _You people_ would not be here subjecting themselves to this torture. In fact, _you people_ would have laughed in your face if you had asked them to invest in the kind of ridiculously unprofitable business you run here. You were incredibly lucky that my father took an interest in you, and now he’s gone and I’m trying to make sure the things he cared about get a fighting chance and you are _not_ helping!”

She throws down her pen, ignoring the splotch of ink blooming on what may or may not be an important document, while opposite her Bellamy runs an exasperated hand over his face.

“This is pointless.”

“This is _important_.”

He sighs, lets his gaze sweep away from the table towards the window and out across the endless landscape – and then suddenly he pushes back from the table and jumps to his feet. “Let’s take a break.”

And then he’s walking towards the door and Clarke has the choice between following him or standing in the middle of the room looking like an idiot, so she follows, right down the corridor and out the door.

“I’m going to show you why you should invest.”

He’s halfway to the stables when he turns around once more to ask:

“Can you ride?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

Clarke grits her teeth at his incredulous tone. Why ask her if he’s not going to believe her answer?

“Yes. Really. They have horses in the city, you know.”

Octavia, who has caught up with them by now, looks stunned by this revelation.

“They do?”

“Of course. There’s not a single thing they don’t have in Manhattan. I mean, I mostly learned to ride during summer camps and on weekend trips to the country, but it is possible to rent horses and take rides in Central Park.”

“That seems cruel to the animals.” 

Clarke ignores Bellamy’s off-handed remark and answers Octavia’s excited questions about all things New York, and before she knows what’s happening, Bellamy is returning from the stable leading two horses. He hands her a helmet and the reins to a bay mare before mounting the other horse, apparently his own. 

“Let’s go, we’re losing daylight.”

* * *

They ride in silence for a while, Clarke trying to get back into the swing of it. She hasn’t been on horseback in what must have been years, but she still remembers how happy she was as she lets the animal’s calm, easy trot lull her into a surprisingly peaceful state. The gorgeous scenery only reinforces that feeling: It’s hard to feel stressed when there’s so much sky above your head, Clarke decides, and she thinks she’s starting to understand what Bellamy is trying to tell her with this outing.

Of course, that’s when Bellamy brings up her Dad.

“I’m sorry about your father.” She shoots him a surprised look, wondering where the hell this is coming from now. “I just realized I didn’t say anything before. When you told us. I was just so shocked… Jake was a great man. I’m sorry you lost him.”

His condolences are so heartfelt and honest that they almost manage to erase all his rude bluster, all his snide remarks over the past hours.

“We’ve been talking about money so much today, but you should know, Jake was more to us than an investor. He was a friend.”

He says it so simply, she can’t help but believe it. Once more, Clarke is reminded of that moment in the kitchen when she overheard Octavia saying “Jake was different” with the same conviction and knew that if she’s going to find her father anywhere, it’s here.

Yes, Clarke think as she looks ahead at the mountain range before them, snowy peaks painted gold in the late-afternoon light: She’s finally exactly where she’s supposed to be.

And then suddenly her horse stops abruptly, lets out a panicked neigh and rears up, and Clarke, who had almost forgotten she was on a horse in the first place, doesn’t even get a chance to try and hang on – she just goes tumbling straight off.

Thankfully, the muddy ground makes for a relatively soft landing, but it’s still painful enough that she just stays in place for a moment, trying to find her breathing while she listens to the thundering hooves of her horse as it speeds off.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Bellamy jumping off his own horse, holding its reins tightly, but instead of walking towards her to check on her, he walks a few feet away from her to stare at the ground and Clarke is left alone with her thoughts and the pain pulsing through her limbs and the sky above her, so big and bright and blue she wonders if it’s mocking her.

Slowly, Clarke can feel a tear running down her cheek, then another one, and the next thing she knows she’s lying there, cold mud seeping through her jeans and designer jacket, sobbing her heart out while her father’s business partner appears by her side again and looks more than a little startled. He must think she’s much more badly hurt than she is when in reality, she’s just having a little breakdown; as you do.

“There was a snake. That’s what spooked your horse. But she got it with her hooves, so you’re safe now.”

He kneels by her side as he says it, sounding awkward and worried and like he’s hoping this reassurance will make her stop crying. Then he starts gently patting down her arms and legs, checking if she has any broken bones, but Clarke is too distracted by crying and too numbed by shock to feel any pain.

His concern puts her into an awkward bind. On the one hand, the thought of anyone witnessing her hysterical sobbing is mortifying enough without having to divulge the reasons. On the other hand, right now he clearly does think she’s injured gravely, and the look of worry on his face makes her feel kind of mean for not telling him that she’s mostly fine. (On the _other_ other hand, there’s also a comforting protectiveness in that look, like he’s going to move heaven and earth just to make her stop hurting, and, well, there’s something to be said for having another person look at you like that.)

But before she’s made a decision about whether she wants to continue her little tantrum or pull herself together and get up again, he has put his arms around her and actually _picked her up_. And while she’s still dealing with _that_ unexpected turn of events, she’s being hauled onto a horse, and it takes an embarrassingly long time of grunting and struggling on his end before she realizes that, yes, this is happening, and she can perhaps help make it a little less mortifying by gripping the saddle and pulling herself up.

On the plus side, his actions seem to have shocked her out of her hysterical crying, so there’s that at least.

“That’s not my horse.”

She’s barely finished voicing that very intelligent observation when he pulls himself up to sit behind her, bending forward to grasp the reins with one hand while the other snakes around her waist.

“What are you doing?”, Clarke actually squeaks, although at this point, she assumes there’s not much face left to save for her.

“Getting you home,” he growls into her ear, and a lot of things happen at the same time: A shiver runs down her spine when his breath grazes the shell of her ear. The horse falls into a trot, causing Clarke to be pushed back against his chest. His hand tightens around her waist, and that protective gesture combined with the way he says “home” makes something hot-and-cold zip through her that has nothing to do with shock or pain.

“What about my horse?”, she manages to croak out.

“It’ll come back. They all know the way home.”

“Oh. Alright then.”

And then she can’t for the life of her think of anything else to say, and since he’s not exactly being chatty, there’s nothing left for Clarke to do but watch the scenery pass by and try to form any kind of coherent thought while she’s intensely aware of him behind her, warm and solid and somehow doing very confusing things to her general constitution.

It’s almost ridiculous, the way she’s falling for this staple of romantic clichés, but there’s just something so comforting about leaning back into someone and trusting them implicitly not to let her fall; about feeling the rise and fall of someone’s chest as they breathe in and out. It’s certainly more intimacy than she’s had with anyone in quite some time, and that thought at least is depressing enough to make her partly regain her senses.

She’s still more than relieved when the house finally comes into view. But of course, just when she thinks her torment is over, he gets off the horse, stands beside it and holds up his arms to lift her down.

“I can get down myself. I told you, I’m not injured.”

“I still want Octavia to take a look at you first, just in case she disagrees.”

“Why? Is she a doctor?”

“Something like that.”

She’s stalling, Clarke knows, but there has to be some way to avoid the repeated humiliation of being carried around and trying not to enjoy it. She just can’t think of any way to get around it. He’s clearly not going to let her climb off that horse by herself, and she has a feeling his stubborn streak may just match hers. So she reminds herself that she’s a _professional_ , here for _professional_ reasons, before she lets go of the saddle and slides into his arms.

For a few heartbeats, that’s exactly where she remains, ensconced in the mockery of a passionate embrace that doesn’t feel as implausible as it should, with his dark eyes closer than eyes like these should be allowed to be and his chest as firm under her hands as she suspected on the ride here.

He breaks the moment to set her on her feet ever-so-carefully, sling an arm around her waist and help her inside.

When they get inside, there’s no sign of Octavia except for a note on the big wooden table which Bellamy reads, growls at and then balls up and throws away before he helps her to the sofa.

“Octavia’s been called into work. Our next-door neighbour’s mare has gone into labor.”

It takes a moment for Clarke to interpret this information. “Your sister’s a vet? You were going to have me treated by a _vet_ if I was injured?”

He shrugs, looking rather sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Some basics probably apply, right?”

Clarke doesn’t dignify this statement with a response as she tries to get comfortable without getting too much mud on the sofa.

Meanwhile, Bellamy’s hovering beside her, still looking like he expects her to fall apart again any second, and Clarke doesn’t know if she should be mortified, annoyed or a little amused by it.

“I’m not hurt, really. I’ll have a few nasty bruises tomorrow, and the drive home will probably be a bit unpleasant, but apart from that, I’m okay.”

“There’s no way I’m letting you drive home like this.”

Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at his commanding tone. There’s protectiveness and then there’s just being overbearing, and she’s not a big fan of the latter. “Excuse me?”

“You took a fall. If you don’t feel any pain yet, that’s probably 'cause of the shock. You could have a concussion or other injuries. ”

The idea of spending yet more time with the vexing man is not exactly appealing, but neither is the thought of getting into her car for a multi-hour trip during which she’ll no doubt be able to feel every single one of the bruises she just received. It really is the most sensible idea to stay.

And if she gets momentarily distracted by the spectacular view from the window, or by watching Bellamy roll up his sleeves from underneath her lashes… well, those _may_ be factors. Not deciding ones, just elements that she feels should be taken into account.

“Alright.” She says it softly, quietly, waiting if she’ll still believe it after it’s been said out loud. She does.

Bellamy, apparently, does not, because he keeps pacing up and down and convincing her of the very thing she’s already agreed to.

“And it’s not just the fall, or the possible concussion. You’re clearly not in a very good place right now, and I don’t think you should be behind the wheel by yourself for hours on end.”

“I already said I’d stay.”

He stops in his pacing as the words finally get through, looking a little startled for a moment before he nods. “I’ll prepare the guest room.”

And with that, he actually starts walking to the door, which Clarke assumes means she’ll be left to her own devices in her wet, muddy clothes.

“Bellamy?”

He turns around by the door.

“Do you think there’s a chance I could get out of these muddy clothes and clean up a little?”

His eyes widen a bit, then he comes back to her side.

“Of course. O has some clothes stashed here for when she stays over…”

“I have a suitcase in the car.”

“Oh. Right.”

He remains in hovering mode, clearly unsure what to do, and Clarke is starting to be amused.

“So how about you get the suitcase, show me the bathroom, and I can handle it from there?”

He nods again and sets off, only to turn back a second later for the keys she’s fishing out of her jacket.

When he returns with the suitcase, Clarke has started peeling off the soggy outer layers of her clothes, putting them on a pile and trying not very successfully not to get mud everywhere.

She’s down to her jeans and tank top at this point and she doesn’t even care what he must think about her, she just wants to stop feeling cold and wet. And yet, when Bellamy’s eyes seem to get stuck on her tight top, she forgets all about that for a moment.

He turns and walks back down the corridor so abruptly it takes her a moment to understand that she’s supposed to follow him. When she does, he ushers her into an unexpectedly clean, spacious bathroom, shoves a pile of towels into her arms, and promptly backs out again, but not before growling:

"Don’t be too long. I’m making us steak.”

And he does: when Clarke emerges from the bathroom again fifteen minutes later, there’s a mouthwatering smell coming from the kitchen, and Bellamy is standing by an old-fashioned gas stove, cooking two gigantic steaks with the utmost concentration and, she can’t help but notice, looking quite mouthwatering himself.

And so Clarke lets him fuss over her and make her steak and tries to ignore the fact that this has, by far, been one of the weirdest experiences she’s had lately.

They spend most of the meal in silence except for some small talk and, of course, Clarke’s delighted exclamations (it really is a damned good steak.). Only when she’s finished the entire steak and let Bellamy shoo her over to the sofa while he clears the table does Clarke remember the resolve she made in the shower.

“I’m sorry about before. I completely lost it,“ she blurts out as soon as he returns, carrying two glasses of wine. He only looks surprised for a second, then he hands her one of the glasses, sets the other one down, and shrugs.

“You took a nasty fall.”

“It wasn’t that terrible.” Of course, that statement just puts her in a position where she needs to explain, and while the thought of unpacking her deepest thoughts is not exactly appealing, it may be better than letting him think she’s prone to hysterics. “It’s just… the last few days have been exhausting and pointless, and I had been hoping this part of the trip would be better when all it did was cause me more pain.”

“That bad, huh?” It’s clear that he doesn’t know what to say but is trying to be comforting anyway, and the clumsy attempt is endearing enough to make her decide to throw caution to the wind and tell him why she’s really here.

“The whole point of the trip was to reconnect with my father.”

“By visiting his investments?”

“By visiting his _favourite_  investments.” He looks a little stunned, so she explains: “He was always talking about this beautiful farm in the middle of nowhere and their wonderful steaks and how hard its owner was working to keep it afloat…. He loved it here, so much. I thought…. I thought if I came here, I’d… I don’t know, that maybe there would still be… some trace of him left.” She can feel her eyes tearing up again, and blinks determinedly. “And there is. I just wasn’t ready for what it would do to me to find it. Does that… does that make any sense at all?”

He nods.

“It does.”

He turns towards her as he says it, twisting his body so that he’s facing her and his knee is pressed lightly, comfortingly against the side of her leg.

“I lost my mom, a few years ago. It just… it takes time.”

She nods slowly, waiting for the information to sink in before she asks: “How did she die?”

“Accident. But for a while I thought this place killed her because she loved it too much.”

Clarke doesn’t reply, waits for him to elaborate instead. Judging by his pained expression, there’s a story here.

She’s right.

“We’d been having a particularly bad year, had lost several dozen cows to colic, when the storm hit. It tore down a power line, which set the stable on fire. She tried to get inside, to let out the animals, and the roof collapsed on her. All we could do was watch.” His voice breaking, he takes a shaking breath. “And it was all for nothing. She couldn’t get the animals out.”

Clarke is stunned speechless by the story, by the raw grief in his voice. She’s no stranger to grief herself, but she has never encountered tragedy on such a scale. Slowly, she reaches out to lay her hand on his arm, lightly and hesitantly because she’s not sure he won’t just shake it off.

He doesn’t. He takes a deep breath and keeps talking.

“When I inherited the farm, I didn’t even consider selling it. She simply loved it too much.”

“How old were you?”, Clarke asks and marvels at how much they have in common: both struggling to continue a parent’s legacy. Except, she suspects, his struggle didn’t take place on the safety cushion of a well-padded trust fund.

“Twenty-three.”

“And you took over the farm all on your own? That can’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t. But for a while, it worked. All our friends pitched in and worked their asses off, and we managed to keep the farm afloat. Until I somehow got it into my head that Octavia should go to college, and then… things went downhill. We almost went bankrupt, no one would give me a loan. That’s when your father found me, yelling threats of bodily harm at a bank manager because they rejected my application for a loan. He dragged me to the nearest bar before I could get arrested, sat me down with a beer and made me explain. And when I was done telling him about the farm and our mother and O and the money, he said: “Alright. Get me one of those steaks that will supposedly change my life. If it does, I’ll get you the money you need.” And that was that.”

“He liked the steak?”

Bellamy nods, a fond smile on his face, and Clarke’s throat suddenly feels tight.

“That’s quite a story.”

“It’s the honest-to-God truth.”

“I believe you. Because this, this is exactly what my Dad was like.”

Tears in her eyes, she reaches out and squeezes his hand.

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t reply, only nods, and they fall silent, both caught up in their own thoughts and neither feeling the need to talk - at least, Clarke isn’t. Quite the contrary, she thinks as she lets her gaze sweep out over the open countryside, almost dark now except for one last light pink stripe on the horizon: Clarke can’t remember the last time she was so comfortable just _being_ with someone, let alone someone she just met.

But there’s a sense of peace settling over her in his company despite the violence of their earlier discussions, which she thinks she can trace back to the way he seems to radiate an unmovable steadiness. It’s something he shares with Wells and her Dad and which Clarke, ever-moving, ever-worried and impatient, sorely lacks. Perhaps it’s just a reflection of the stillness of the place, similar to the way the golden sunset light was reflected in his glittering eyes earlier, or perhaps this place has made him this way. But whatever it is, Clarke can feel it washing over her and taking the edge off her jumbled thoughts, her chaotic life, and she realizes just how exhausted she really is.

She burrows deeper into the soft cushions, suppressing a brief impulse to lean into the man beside her (You’ve only met him _today_ , she scolds herself), and lets out a contented sigh. She’s aware that she’s slowly drifting off to sleep, which is incredibly rude, but she can’t really make herself care and Bellamy doesn’t seem to care either. At least until she actually does fall asleep, and even then he doesnt seem insulted, though he takes the opportunity to grumble a bit when he wakes her up again.

“Can’t say I usually have women falling asleep on me,” he mutters as he gently taps her shoulder a few times.

Blinking awake, Clarke smiles sleepily “Show-off.”

He guffaws and holds out a hand so she can pull herself up.

“Come on, I’ll show you your room.”

He lets go of her hand the moment she’s steady on her feet, but Clarke can feel the warmth of his skin until they’ve made it down the long corridor and he opens a door and steps aside, and again when she pushes past him into the room. And perhaps because she’s still half-asleep or perhaps because he’s really not as horrible as she thought this morning, Clarke stops, leans up, and presses a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Thanks for the steak.”

And well, she’s said more seductive things to attractive men after much more than one glass of wine, but she _did_ fall off a horse today.

Besides, _seductive_ isn’t really something she should aim for in this context, she reminds herself belatedly. She’s a _professional_ , here for _professional_ reasons. But then Bellamy smiles and the mantra has even less of an effect than it did before.

“Anytime, Princess.”

Clarke shoots him a perfunctory glare because, really, _Princess_? But there’s no bite behind it, and the nickname, silly as it may be, causes a pleasant little flutter deep within her.

It’s only when she closes the door behind her, smile still in place, that the thought hits her like a bucket of ice-cold water: She still hasn’t made a decision about renewing the investment.

Although, well, that’s not quite true: She may not know exactly what to tell the board yet. But she sure as hell knows what she _wants_ to tell them.


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke wakes up the next morning from the kind of sleep that leaves your bones heavy and your mind struggling to remember what century it is.

A dull pain shoots up from her tailbone when she sits up, no doubt a souvenir of the fall she took yesterday. And yet, as she yawns and stretches and breathes in, Clarke is too distracted to really care about the pain. She dimly remembers waking up in the middle of the night, right before she hit REM sleep, with the kind of idea that has spelled success before; the kind of idea she only ever has at ungodly hours - which is why she usually keeps her phone nearby to make a quick note of it before she can forget. But last night, she was too tired and too sick of all reminders of New York, so she just turned it off and put it in her bag. Which means that whatever idea she had may be lost forever.

But Clarke refuses to despair yet -  perhaps her undoubtedly brilliant idea will come back after she's had some coffee. Exchanging her pyjamas for a fresh pair of jeans and a soft sweater, she slips into the thick woollen socks Bellamy gave her in lieu of slippers and pads down the hall. Living-room and kitchen are both deserted, but there's a thermos full of coffee on the table and eggs and bacon in a covered pan on the stove with a sticky note on top that says "help yourself". She does, quickly reheating the eggs, popping two slices of bread into the toaster and pouring herself some coffee. There's a tray on the top of the kitchen cabinet and Clarke piles her bountiful breakfast onto it to eat at the dining-room table. But once there, she notices there are chairs and a table on the balcony, and then there's no question anymore about eating inside.

It's colder than she expected, but after a moment's hesitation, Clarke decides that the fresh air and incredible view are worth being a little chilly.

She practically wolfs down her breakfast, surprisingly hungry considering she ate approximately half a cow last night, and then curls up in a comfortable deck chair to savour her coffee and the view.

Unfortunately, not even the wide open view and brisk air bring back her genius idea - but Bellamy does. He joins her when she's about halfway through her gigantic mug of coffee, looking energetic and windswept and still, she notices involuntarily, incredibly attractive. Wearing a dark blue sweater with his jeans today and holding a steaming mug of his own, he smiles brightly when he spots her.

"I see you've found the best breakfast spot around here. Did you sleep well?"

She nods and is about to report that she slept longer than the previous three nights combined when her idea finally returns.

"I know how we can save your ranch."

And she lays out the entire plan, nervously watching his face to gauge his reaction. Bellamy looks far from convinced - and sounds just as sceptical when she's finished.

“You want me to turn my ranch into a  _hotel_?!”

“No. I want you to add a guest house and offer a “working ranch” experience to paying guests.”

“So, a hotel.”

“It's not the same thing! Its more low-key, more familiar. You probably wouldn't have guests year-round, just on and off. You could start small, only offer two or three rooms, then gradually expand once you've got the hang of it. You'd probably have to hire someone, at least part-time, for housekeeping to make sure nothing keeps you from the farmwork. But you could make an extra profit at very little investment or risk.”

“And then you'd keep me on?”

“Then when the yearly reviews roll around, I can sell you to the board as an insignificant but viable investment.”

He's silent, still unsure, and she thinks she understands his reticence – part of the magic of this place is its reclusive nature, and of course taking on guests seems to run counter to that. But that's also precisely why it should be saved, and Clarke can only do so much.

“I am  _trying_  to help you, Bellamy. But I can't just throw money at you, no questions asked. So this is my offer: I'll get you a one-time starting investment for the necessary remodelling, advertising and such to get the thing off the ground. You make sure that it does. You paint the door and remove the driveway, like Octavia suggested, so that it approaches the house from the front. And for all that is good and holy, you do not yell and glower at your visitors the way you yelled and glowered at me.”

“I didn't yell at you.”

“You did glower though.”

“Well, I thought you were here to shut us down.”

“It doesn't matter what I was here for. You were a bad host to me, and if you want to be in the hospitality business, you'll have to learn to be a good host.”

“I _don't_ want to be in the hospitality business.”

“But you want to save your farm.”

Silence again as he nervously ruffles his hair.

“You know I do.”

“Yes.”

“And this is the best way to do it?”

“The only alternative is striking the “organic” out of your “organic meat” and switching to conventional, large-scale cattle breeding.”

“No way in hell am I doing that.”

“Then guest rooms are your best bet.”

“Alright, I'll do it.”

“Good. Then it's settled. I'll call you when I've hammered out the details, and we'll stay in contact about the remodelling and everything.”

He looks less than enthusiastic at the mention of “remodelling”, but Clarke doesn't care. She's finally getting somewhere, and her Dad's favourite investment will be safe. There's only one thing that bothers her, and that's the necessity of phone calls and “staying in contact” - if it were up to her, she'd simply stay here, borrow a pair of work boots from Octavia, and get right to work on her new project. After sleeping so well, Clarke feels more energized than she has in months, and she's itching to  _do_  something, to get her hands dirty, to  _build_  something and watch as it yields results, not by tracking numbers on paper but by actually being with the action.

An hour later, as Clarke pulls out of the driveway and onto the bumpy road leading up to the Blake farm, the thought is still running through her head, getting more and more insistent: Do something more. Stay. Help. Get your hands dirty for once in your life!

Clarke tries to fight the ridiculous idea. She has an MBA from the London School of Economics, for crying out loud – is she really going to put it to use decorating guestrooms on a cattle ranch?

Yes, Clarke suddenly knows, because she also hasn't slept more than three hours a night for the past six months. Because she still remembers her father waxing poetic about Bellamy's happy cows and excellent steak and breathtaking view. And because the way Bellamy and Octavia say the name “Jake” lets her know, without a doubt, that her Dad would approve of it.

She hits the brakes so hard she causes mud and gravel to spatter against the sides of her gleaming convertible, turns the car around, and heads back.

When she turns the corner into the yard, Bellamy is standing in the same spot she left him, looking in her direction, and Clarke briefly wonders if he sensed her returning, if he's been standing there looking after her the entire time, or if it's all just a coincidence.

For her sanity's sake, she decides it's a coincidence just as she comes to a halt in front of him.

He doesn't say a word as she gets out of the car, so it falls to her to actually voice her impulsive idea, which sounds a lot crazier with every passing moment.

“You know, I've been thinking about taking a sabbatical.”

“You have?”

She nods. “In fact, my friends have strongly advised me to take some time off, travel or maybe just move somewhere quiet and peaceful for a while.... But the thing is, I hate being inactive. Just the thought of sitting around without any work to do drives me crazy. Taking on a smaller project on the other hand, somewhere quiet and peaceful just like my friends suggested – that I think I could do.”

“And do you have a project in mind yet?”

“I might. If they'll take me.”

“They might.” Clarke grins triumphantly, but he doesn't join her quite yet. “But only if it means I won't be bothered with details like breakfast options and carpet colors.”

“You won't have to hear a thing about carpets. Mostly because  _I_  don't know a thing about carpets. But that can be remedied, right?”

"Right."

"So we're doing this? Together?"

He looks at her silently for a torturously long moment before he finally nods. "Looks like it."

***

  
This is a strange, strange day, Bellamy thinks as he watches Clarke Griffin, clad in jeans and a white jacket, of all things, struggle into Octavia's old work boots.  
Yesterday, he went into their negotiations expecting to lose everything. Today, he has gained a roommate, business partner and benefactress all in one.

He's still working on processing this development when the phone rings - Octavia, calling to very unsubtly interrogate him.

"So how did it go?"

"Pretty well."

"Did she say something about the money before she left?"

"She...uh... She hasn't actually left yet."

"What? Bell, when I said woo her I didn't mean..."

" _No!_ That's not... She fell off her horse, okay?"

"Jesus Christ! She's not like... In a coma or something, is she?"

"Will you just let me explain without jumping to conclusions?"

"Right. Okay. Explain."

"She's staying in order to help me."

"Help you do what?"

"Turn the farm into a hotel."

The silence at the other end of the line lasts for so long that Bellamy is starting to think that the connection broke when Octavia finally says:

"I don't understand."

"It was her idea. She thinks she can get her Dad's company to keep funding us, but we'll have to increase our revenue."

"And a hotel is the way to do that?"

"Not a hotel, exactly. More like guest rooms. I'm a little fuzzy on the details, Clarke is taking over all of that stuff."

"Is she now."

"What's with the tone?"

"Nothing. It's just that... Gina was with you for two  _years_ and you didn't let her take over so much as one drawer in your bathroom cabinet. And this girl just waltzes in here and you give her free reign of the entire house?"

"What does any of this have to do with Gina? Clarke offered to save us. I'm not saying no to that."

"And Clarke knows a lot about turning farms into hotels?"

"Absolutely nothing."

At the other end of the line, Octavia makes a disparaging sound.

"But she knows how to make people want things."

And despite all the things he doesn't know about Clarke Griffin, he's absolutely sure of this. 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which a variety of people react to Clarke's decision, guest rooms turn into a guest house, and an ex sort of makes an appearance.

Bellamy is not the only one who has some trouble explaining the development: When Clarke tells her mother about her plan, there's a long silence at the other end. Then there are questions that sound like accusations and answers that feel like defenses, and Clarke eventually just makes up an excuse about needing to talk to the bank and hangs up.

The conversation makes her less than eager to tell anyone else, so she just sends a short e-mail about taking a break for a while, and responds to the expected barrage of messages from Raven and Wells with **_"Am fine, slept 10 hours last night, update soon,"_** which seems to appease them somewhat.

Getting her mother's assistant Jackson to arrange her very spontaneous sabbatical is easy as pie, partly because Jackson is notoriously bad at saying no to her and partly because she threatens to have a very public nervous breakdown in the middle of Fifth Avenue, at which point he cedes and promises to find someone to take over her other projects.

With that, there's nothing left to do but switch off her phone, pull on Octavia's boots, and head out to inspect the old barn Bellamy casually mentioned to her just before - and which, she finds out five minutes later, is actually _perfect_.

The building next to the main house which she first thought housed stables is actually an old barn, empty except for a bunch of old crap and broken machinery. In the dust-dimmed light, she can make out the sturdy old beams holding the thing together, and a vision arises before her inner eye: Putting up divisional walls along the beams would allow them to create at least three, maybe four separate room units, with enough space left in the front of the building for a breakfast room and kitchen. They might even make use of the hayloft still partially intact on the far wall, turn it into a gallery bedroom to spend the night dreaming high above the world... Really, the flyer writes itself. 

Granted, right now the only thing in here is dust and scrap metal and a few old farming tools, all wood and rust, which might make charming decorations and give the whole thing an additional rustic touch. But most importantly for now, the barn is quite clearly unused and, Clarke decides then and there, it's _hers_ now.

In keeping with her resolution to get her hands dirty on this project, Clarke gets to work right away, starting to drag whatever she can towards the barn door so it can be thrown out, and setting aside the decorative antique tools. Luckily, she remembers to take off her white jacket and cashmere sweater before throwing herself elbows-deep into dust and dirt, and by the time Bellamy checks in on her, she's in jeans and a lace-trimmed undershirt, sweaty and dishevelled and completely absorbed in her work.

"Say hello to your new guest house," she exclaims when he steps into the barn. Bellamy looks at her with a strange expression and remains silent for so long that she's starting to get worried. Was she not supposed to come in here? Does this barn hold some connection to his mother which she just dishonoured? But then he finally replies, voice strangely thin:

"It's a barn."

Clarke grins cockily. "It won't be by the time I'm through with it." And just in case, she asks: "Unless there's some reason it can't be used?"

"No, not at all. We store everything useful in the new barn down by the cowshed these days. I just can't imagine how the hell you're going to transform this old thing into guest rooms."

Luckily, Clarke can imagine it, and she already knows who she's going to ask for help: her friend Roan, who beautifully restores old buildings even when everyone else has already given up on them. He's a miracle worker, and many of his projects have been turned into the kind of super-exclusive retreat frequented by celebs and millionaires. Of course, even though Roan still modestly calls himself a simple contractor, his rates are steep, and Bellamy could never afford them. But if there's one thing her parents taught her, it's that if something is worth doing, it is worth doing well. She'll just have to provide some extra funds out of her own pocket without telling Bellamy - she has a feeling he won't like it if her starting capital feels like charity.

"You're just going to have to trust me then," Clarke says brightly and, granted, given that they've known each other for exactly one day, that seems a bit much to ask.

But Bellamy studies her for a moment, nods, and says: "Okay."

She calls Roan that very evening to pester him into coming out here with a combination of swoon-worthy descriptions of the property and pleas to help her save Bellamy's ranch, and eventually, for whatever reason, Roan agrees.

So all in all, things progress nicely, and by the time she calls Wells before going to bed, Clarke's explanation sounds a bit more like an actual business idea and less like, well, some sort of psychotic episode. Of course, Wells is still concerned, she can tell even if he's trying to sound supportive. But at least she can convince him there's no need to fly out straight away and rescue her from whatever danger he suspects behind her sudden decision not to return to New York.

"Tell you what: why don't you come visit when the guest house is ready? I'll reserve you a room for the grand opening. You can bring that girl you've been talking about."

Wells laughs.

"Well, at least you're optimistic about something again." Clarke is taken aback by the statement - she didn't know she had been so noticeably down. But Wells breezes on, the familiar hint of a smile in his voice. "I expect the best room, of course."

"Of course," Clarke replies earnestly, awash with gratitude for having such an incredible best friend.

Conversation peters out quickly after that, as Clarke barely makes it through Wells' recap of his date with Luna without yawning loudly. She's been exposed to more fresh air and menial work in one day than she has in the past year, and she can feel it in every bone in her body. Luckily, Wells only laughs and sends her off to bed, and thus ends Clake's first day as a future hotel mogul.

***

 

Her second day is a little less conflict-free, unfortunately. First of all, she's woken at an ungodly hour by a phone call from Raven, who has shown surprising restraint in waiting an entire day to question her.

"Alright, I tried to give you some space, but come on, you can't even send me a picture?"

"What?"

"Of the guy you've decided to shack up with."

"I... There's no guy!"

"Cut the bullshit, Wells already spilled the beans on Farmer Blake. So you're dating a cowboy now? He must be pretty hot to keep you away from the city."

He is, Clarke almost blurts out, then remembers who she's talking to. Wells would chuckle and discreetly move past her Freudian slip, but Raven would not let her live it down.

"It's nothing like that. We're going into business together. I'm helping him build a guesthouse so he can keep the ranch."

Raven's voice switches immediately from teasing to worried. "Clarke, babe, this isn't some kind of delayed reaction to the whole Lexa debacle, is it? Because if it is, it might honestly be better just to sleep with Farmer Blake and move on."

Clarke can feel her face burn even if “Farmer Blake“, as Raven has apparently dubbed him, can't actually hear her. Because the fact is, if things were different, she would not have hesitated to take him home. But of course, if things were different, they would never have met in the first place.

"I won't."

"What? Sleep with him or make possibly disastrous decisions because of Lexa?"

"Both. I'm here for me, and for my Dad." And for Bellamy, she adds mentally, but doesn't say it out loud to avoid another round of questioning. "Dad cared about this place a lot, Ray. I'm not going to let it go down."

There's silence that sounds a lot like a suppressed sigh, then Raven says: "Fine. But if the rednecks give you any trouble, call me. I'll teach them about city folks."

Clarke laughs, though she's sure Raven is absolutely serious behind the joke. Clarke is pretty sure her friend can hold her own anywhere, handicapped leg or not. Clarke's battles, on the other hand, are mostly fought in boardrooms and the occasional gentlemen's club.

Clarke promises to call if she runs into any trouble at all, and Raven, pacified for now, lets the topic slide and rushes off to some hacker event she's lecturing at.

But despite throwing herself right back into work (the barn is almost empty, and Bellamy has promised to drag out the heavier parts with a tractor later in the day), Clarke's peace of mind is rattled by the mention of her traitorous ex. And just when she's almost managed to push the thought away again, Clarke takes a break, looks at her phone, and sees Lexa's name on the lock screen.

_**heard u left NYC. u ok?** _

It's just one short message, but in its almost callously casual brevity, it does enough damage.

Octavia finds her half an hour later, rifling through Bellamy's pantry and cursing angrily while she searches for some decent wine. It's classic Lexa: she wasn't there when Clarke needed her, but even after they've gone their separate ways, she still somehow keeps Clarke from completely breaking free of her.

When Octavia worriedly asks what's wrong with her, Clarke is tempted to tell the other woman everything. After all, isn't sharing horrible ex-stories considered a bonding ritual? Going by Octavia's wordless but incredibly loud mistrust, they could use some bonding. 

Then again, Octavia's worry ist most likely more for her brother than for Clarke's wellbeing, and perhaps after spilling her heart to one Blake, she should take it a little slower today.

"Nothing's wrong, just an unpleasant reminder of home."

"Ex-boyfriend?" Octavia asks almost correctly.

"Girlfriend." There's no need to lie about it, after all, and Octavia's complete lack of a reaction suggests no need to worry about disclosing that bit of personal information either. "I'm bi," she adds anyway, but it seems Octavia is less preoccupied with her sexual orientation and more with the general state of her love life. 

"Listen, Clarke, I didn't want to say anything, but... you're clearly not doing so great right now, and that's fine. I just need to know... is your decision to stay here and do the whole hotel thing only a way to get over your ex? Or worse, will you take off again when you make up with her? Cause my brother is counting on you, and I don't want him to get his hopes up for a city girl who just wants to play at roughing it for a bit. I'm sure you're nice and everything, and you're probably used to getting whatever new toy you fancy, but this can't just be a pet project for you. My brother's livelihood depends on this farm. If you actually get him started on this project, you're going to have to stay and make sure it gets off the ground."

For a moment, Clarke wants to snap at her, offended by the implication that she's not going to see this through. But then she remembers her conversations with Wells and Raven and her mother, and reminds herself how her decision must look like from the outside: like a spontaneous, flash-in-the-pan idea, a little adventure before she returns to playing in the big leagues. And just like her friends wanted to protect her, Octavia is protective of her brother, who's probably desperate enough to make a lot of bad deals in order to save his ranch.

"I'm not."

Octavia looks less than convinced.

"Look, I know how this must look like from the outside. But it's not about my ex, I promise. My Dad saw something in this place. He thought it was worth saving, so that's what I'm doing." Clarke pauses, then adds on impulse: "Plus, I actually sleep here. Must be the air or something..."

Octavia frowns in confusion. "Are you telling me New Yorkers don't sleep?"

Clarke laughs. "This one doesn't."

"You're weird."

That was not something Clarke expected to hear. (Though perhaps she should have.)

Neither is Octavia's next question.

"You're not sleeping with my brother, are you?"

Clarke blushes, wondering if Octavia somehow read some of her more inappropriate thoughts about her new business partner.

"No, I'm not."

"Good. Cause I don't know much about businesses, but I'm pretty sure starting one with someone you're screwing is a bad idea."

"It probably is," Clarke agrees and tries not to feel a little bit dejected.

Octavia on the other hand is apparently satisfied, and changes the topic.

They slide somewhat comfortably into conversation, Octavia talking about life on the ranch, about going to college and meeting her boyfriend and opening a veterinary practice with him in town, and by the time Bellamy gets back, Clarke and Octavia are well on their way through the bottle of wine. 

 _Take that, Lexa,_ Clarke thinks blearily - _I actually_ am _okay_. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Lexa and Clarke's relationship did not end well, and No, Lexa does not look good in this story. That won't change, I'm afraid. Clarke may have quickly forgiven Lexa for betraying them all in canon, but I did not. That said, the relationship will not play a big role, and won't come up much more after this chapter.  
> Also, sorry about the "rednecks" - that's just Raven being protective.  
> Is Octavia "I opened a practice with my boyfriend but you better not sleep with your business partner" a hypocrite? Yes. Did I add that on purpose? Sadly, no.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly awkwardness and Clarke's raging boner for Bellamy and maybe like, 2% plot.

Having gained the reluctant trust of both Blake siblings, Clarke makes herself feel at home with almost scary speed. Octavia offers her free reign of any old clothes of hers that fit, an offer Clarke is endlessly grateful for because, as it turns out, a wardrobe almost entirely purchased at Saks does not hold up well in the local climate. And while not a lot of Octavia's clothes actually fit her, she does make quite a few fashion discoveries while rifling through them.

"Oversized flannel? Your sister is a genius", Clarke announces as she emerges from her room to join Bellamy for breakfast, having decided that sleeping in every day is not an option if she wants to show him how hard she's willing to work for this project.

But while she admits it may be strange to see her up and about this early, Clarke thinks his completely dumbfounded stare might be a little bit much. Bellamy is staring at her like some sort of apparition and her enthusiasm quickly falters.

"She did say it was okay for me to take her clothes, but of course, I won't do that forever. It's just.... most of my clothes aren't really appropriate here, and I didn't have the time to go into town and do some shopping yet." Not to mention she has no idea how the shopping options are out here, but she guesses not that great.

"Of course, if O said it's okay you're free to help yourself. It's just that..." Bellamy swallows visibly, "that's _my_ shirt, actually."

For a moment Clarke feels annoyed that he'd react so peevishly to a harmless mistake. Then she realises what she must look like right now, and blushes hard. The matching red spots on his cheeks tell her he had the same thought.

She grasps the hem of the shirt to pull it off before thinking, and Bellamy lets out a strangled sound of protest.

"Don't take it off  _now_!"

"I'm wearing a top underneath," Clarke reassures him but stills in her movements anyway, reluctant to let go of the wonderfully comfortable garment. Still, did he honestly think she'd take off her clothes in the middle of his kitchen? _And if I did_ , her brain unhelpfully supplies, _would he like it?_

"Oh, okay then." He looks a little sheepish now. "You're welcome to wear it, it's a little tight for me anyway."

"Thanks", Clarke replies, now sounding strangled herself. If that shirt is too small, how big are the shirts that fit him? The thought is distracting, and Clarke quickly sits down and busies herself with breakfast.

"But maybe you _should_ buy some more stuff to wear."

Clarke looks up from her hash browns, surprised. She has only been to the nearby town once since she got here, to return her rental car, and he's right: she definitely needs some practical clothes of her own. She'll have to ask Octavia to take her shopping the next time she comes over.

But Bellamy surprises her again.

"Want me to take you into town? I have to pick up some stuff tomorrow anyway."

Clarke doesn't have to think about the offer for long. She really does need something practical to wear, and she could stand to get out of the house.

"While we're in town, we could also grab some lunch. Make a day of it."

Again, Bellamy seems startled by what Clarke thinks is a perfectly reasonable suggestion. If she's venturing into town, she might as well sample the local cuisine. 

"You mean like a date?"

Oh, okay. That would explain his surprise.

 _"No!"_  Clarke immediately protests and then, remembering her recent conversation with Octavia, repeats: " _God No!_ "

Now Bellamy looks a little offended and she feels bad.

"I mean, dating would be a very bad idea, considering we're going into business together."

He nods, slowly. "That's true."

Then he returns his attention to his breakfast, and it appears the topic is closed for him. Clarke blinks owlishly into her coffee for a moment, not sure if she should be relieved or a little disappointed. Of course, she knows what she _should_ be. But for a moment when Bellamy saw her in his shirt, there was something in his eyes that she hasn't seen directed at her in a while - and most importantly, something she hasn't enjoyed seeing in a long time.

But this is for the best, she reminds herself. This way, they've cleared up the situation before any confusion can even come up, and she's sure her inappropriate attraction to her business partner will fade in no time and leave her able to focus on their business alone. 

With the satisfying feeling of a tricky subject dealt with once and for all, Clarke devotes herself to her breakfast as well, making a mental note to ask Bellamy to stop at a supermarket as well so she can buy some less carb-heavy breakfast options.

***

 

After a day spent cooped up inside to read up on the ins and outs of the hotel industry and to get started on her business plan, Clarke is more than ready for a trip to town. 

Seeing as it's a little early for lunch, Bellamy drives past the diner and pulls up in front of a shop for hunting and fishing supplies. Assuming he means to get something for himself before driving on to the actual shop, Clarke remains seated until he pulls open the passenger side door and gestures for her to come out.

"You wanted to shop, didn't you?"

" _Here_?" Clarke doesn't quite manage to suppress a horrified shrillness to her voice, but Bellamy just shrugs.

"What you need, first and foremost, is a warm jacket and a sturdy pair of boots, and this is the best place to get it."

Clambering out of the truck, Clarke tries to remember the last time she set out to buy "sturdy" shoes. She comes up blank, but then, she's never taken off to the country to start a hotel business either. Clearly, first times are a theme today.  

To Clarke's surprise, the shop does carry a somewhat sizable collection of normal clothes, some of which are not completely horrifying, and the shop assistant is not a beer-guzzling redneck but a lanky young man with the look, air and general enthusiasm of a greyhound puppy.

He greets them happily, completely unfazed by Bellamy's gruff response, and devotes himself to finding Clarke the perfect workboots and outdoor jacket as if he had been born for the job. Within an hour - a reasonable time for a complete wardrobe reboot, Clarke thinks - she's not only found boots and a parka but also a pair of coveralls, thick work gloves, and a denim shirt she's pretty sure was here long before double denim came back into fashion.

The shopkeeper, who introduces himself as "Jasper" within seconds of greeting them, clearly has the time of his life trying to find clothes that A) Clarke doesn't drown in and B) which she doesn't find completely revolting. 

Even Bellamy is helpful by pointing out that Clarke will in fact need to be able to work in the clothes and that yes, the boots look chunky one size too big but she'll thank him when she manages to fit an extra pair of woollen socks in there and while that corduroy shirt does look cute when she ties it up at her bellybutton, it will be months before she should even contemplate wearing a crop top.

All in all, it's a fun and productive morning, during which Clarke also learns all she needs to know about the little town for now, and then quite a bit she isn't sure she _really_ wanted to know. But as much as Jasper talks, he's even better at asking questions, and every time Clarke is distracted, for example by choosing between two almost identical shades of green, he manages to get another little morsel of personal information out of her.

It's only when they step outside and Clarke's eyes fall on Bellamy's scowl that something occurs to her.

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have made you stay - you must have been excruciatingly bored."

"I was. But there's no way in hell I was going to leave you alone with Jasper."

Clarke laughs. "Oh come on, he was perfectly nice."

"Sure, he's _nice_. He's also the biggest gossip in town. So from now on, whenever you meet someone new, just assume they already know your whole life story."

Clarke can feel horror creeping onto her face, which in turn seems to amuse Bellamy.

"Welcome to the small-town life, Princess."

Clarke rolls her eyes and hurls her shopping into the trunk of Bellamy's car with a little too much panache.

"At least I know how to make a good first impression. Unlike  _some_ people." She looks at him pointedly, but Bellamy remains unfazed as he slams shut the trunk and walks around to the driver's seat.

"And you'll have the opportunity to make a _lot_ of good impressions today, I promise."

He's not wrong, Clarke soon finds out. Wherever they go, curious eyes follow her until Clarke can't stand being gawped at any longer and strikes up a conversation - which doesn't really help with the curious stares, but adds curious questions into the mix too. 

By the time they're done with Bellamy's errands and Clarke's shopping, Clarke is almost ready to suggest postponing lunch and heading home right away.

But Bellamy grins smugly and asks: "How are you enjoying your stay in the country so far?" and Clarke determinedly strides into the diner before him.

But if driving around town had felt like running the gauntlet, going for lunch apparently equates stepping into an arena, and Clarke only understands this much too late. The second she sets foot in the diner – so old-fashioned it almost looks deliberately vintage again – every single patron actually falls silent and turns to stare at her. Clarke freezes in place, the door still creaking behind her, and then jumps when there's a hand on her back and Bellamy's voice near her ear.

“You'll be happy to hear that my usual table's near the back.“

She lets him lead her there, politely nodding at everyone as she passes them – until Bellamy leans in close again to hiss:

“Don't nod! You'll only encourage them!”

She can feel his hand flexing on the small of her back and suppresses a shiver.

“Why are they all so interested in me anyway?” Clarke is relieved to slide into a corner booth, where hopefully everyone will forget about her soon.

“Let's see... because the last time a stranger came in here and stayed longer than a day, Octavia wasn't even born yet.”

Eyes wide as saucers, Clarke is about to exclaim that that can't be true when the waitress steps up to them, a shy young woman with long, brown hair.

“What can I get you today?” Her eyes dart back and forth between them, which prompts Clarke to read the menu with more concentration than strictly necessary given that it's only a page long.

Bellamy doesn't even glance at it before ordering a burger, and Clarke decides it must be a safe bet and does the same, only for the waitress to look almost... disappointed? She lingers by their table needlessly, until Bellamy scowls and says:

“That'll be all then, Fox.”

The waitress pouts but walks off anyway, and the other diner guests finally resume their conversations, although Clarke wonders how many of them are talking about her now.

“What was that about?”

“Murphy, the chef. He probably sent her to find out who you are.”

“Really? Doesn't he have anything better to do? Why the hell is it so important who I am?”

And now, oddly, Bellamy looks a little flustered, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

“Because they think you're my new girlfriend, I assume.”

“And that would be the whole town's business because....?”

“Because I am one of exactly three single men in this entire town, and the other two are not-so-secretly dating each other. Plus,” he turns his head and sort of mumbles the next words into his shirt collar, “it's been a while since the last time I brought a woman here.”

It takes Clarke a moment to understand the last part, but then the penny drops.

“Oh my God – you're this town's old bachelor, aren't you?”

“I wouldn't say _old_....,” he protests, but Clarke cuts him off.

“And you didn't think to warn me this would happen before parading me around town?”

Now he grins, embarrassment driven off by amusement.

“And miss out on watching you squirm? Not a chance.” He pats her hand patronisingly, and Clarke thinks she can hear someone gasp in the vicinity of their table. “There's not a lot to do for fun around here, and today was a _lot_ of fun.”

Clarke wants to stay mad, she really does, but he's all smiling and freckle-y and well, if it really is this boring here, who is she to begrudge him this little pleasure?

Besides, their burgers arrive soon after, and they are _good_. Eye-rolling, accidentally-moaning- out-loud good, and Bellamy smiles again as he watches her try to stuff the entire thing into her mouth but she doesn't even care.  
   
"Murphy's a pain in the ass, but his burgers are amazing. Just the burgers though, don't ever make the mistake of ordering anything else."

Now it's Clarke's turn to tease. "Oh, so we'll be back for a second date?"

Bellamy laughs. "A date, is it now? That sounded very different yesterday."

"Yesterday I didn't know there was an entire town waiting for you to find someone to settle down with. Who am I to deny them their wish?"

He snorts. "Trust me, I'll find someone to settle down with, even without your help."

Clarke nods exaggeratedly. "Of course you will. Incidentally, how long _has_ it been since the last time you brought someone here?"

He hesitates for a second and Clarke is suddenly afraid that she went too far and let herself get carried away in the goodnatured banter.

"It's been a while. But don't worry, I still know the basics."

Clarke is suddenly glad to be able to focus on her burger, because that sounded almost... promising.

"Of dating!" Bellamy exclaims, apparently realising what she thought he meant. "Jesus, get your mind out of the gutter Princess."

Clarke grins herself now, delighted by the sudden splash of red appearing on his cheeks.

"Either way - good for you", Clarke says and grins smugly.

Their conversation continues in this manner, light and teasing, and Clarke realizes at aome point that this is the most fun she's had during a business lunch in a long time - or on a date, for that matter.

But that really makes no difference, she reminds herself.  She's not here to concern herself with Bellamy's love life, or his freckles, or his ridiculously cute smile. She's here for business. And to finish that whole entire burger without wasting one single thought on carbs and fat and calories. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically this is only half a chapter. But I think after today, we can all use some cowboy!Bellamy.

Discovering the barn, getting equipped for the country life and experiencing Bellamy's fun side have the effect of smashing any remaining doubts Clarke may have had about her new endeavor, and she throws herself into work with more determination than ever.

Unfortunately, her new business partner seems a lot less invested: Bellamy is nowhere to be seen for the next two days, and neither is anyone else. First, Clarke is just a little disappointed that their burgeoning tradition of having breakfast together seems to be fizzling out already. When she briefly catches him in the hallway on the second day and he simply brushes her question off with a "Not now, Princess!", she gets a little irritated. But when, on the third day, she has some questions about the farm's water and electricity systems and is brushed off yet again, Clarke decides she's had enough.

"Are you at all interested in how your guesthouse is progressing?" she snaps sharply.

"Honestly? Right now, I couldn't care less."

Clarke grits her teeth at his dismissive tone, but holds her ground. She's not going to get brushed off again.

"Are you kidding me? I'm trying to get your new business off the ground."

"Well, I've been a little busy keeping my old business from dying. Literally - a few of the cows got sick two days ago, and we've been working nonstop to keep them from dying, or infecting so many other animals that the health authorities shut this place down. So you'll have to excuse me for not being up to speed with your hotel project."

He moves towards her, into the dim light of the hallway, and now Clarke notices it: the tiredness behind his sharp tone, the bags under his eyes, the slight sag in his posture. He's not just tired, he's absolutely exhausted - and she didn't even notice.

Guilt hits her like a punch to the gut - she was supposed to help carry some of his burdens, not add to them. 

"I'm so sorry, Bellamy - I had no idea, or I wouldn't have pestered you about the hotel stuff. Did you manage to save the cows?"

"We did. Miller's sleeping in the stables tonight to monitor the situation, but I think we've got it contained."

Clarke nods, relieved. "That's good. Is there anything I can do?"

He shakes his head, the motion causing him to sway a little.

"Not right now. Look, I'll deal with the hotel questions as soon as I've had a shower okay?"

"No."

His eyes widen in surprise, then flicker with anger, and Clarke quickly continues.

"You're not going to do anything of the sort tonight. You're going to have your shower and I'm going to make something to eat and then you're going to go to bed, and we're not talking about the guesthouse stuff until you've had a decent night's sleep and you're sure the cows are all fine."

The traces of anger vanish from his face, replaced by amusement.

"Sounds like you've got my evening all planned out. Do I get a say in that?"

Clarke shakes her head. "Nope. You look like one gust of wind would bowl you right over. Shower, food, sleep - that's it!"

She actually grabs his shoulders and steers him in the direction of the bathroom, almost managing not to linger on the idea of him taking off his clothes in there.

He chuckles but doesn't protest - only when he's already in the bathroom and she's about to march on to the kitchen does he ask:

"Do you even know how to cook?"

Clarke doesn't dignify the question with an answer.

Five minutes later, she's calling Wells to ask for help.

In true best friend fashion Wells doesn't ask too many questions, he only lets her tell him the contents of Bellamy's fridge and kitchen cabinets and calmly walks her through the process of fixing a quick meal.

By the time Bellamy emerges from the bathroom, she's prepared mashed potatoes (luckily there was still a box of them in the kitchen cabinet) and a veritable mountain of sausages. It's not much, but Bellamy smiles and then immediately tucks in anyway, so she figures it's enough for now. Clarke has already eaten earlier, but she opens a can of beer in solidarity and sits with him.

He cleans off the gigantic portion in an impressively short amount of time, then leans back in his chair and smiles at her gratefully.

"Thank you. That was just what I needed." He hesitates for a moment, taking a sip of his beer. "And sorry, for snapping at you."

"No need to apologize. You've had a rough few days."

"Still, it's not like you've been siting on your ass all day. Come on, ask me what you wanted to know while I'm still somewhat awake."

"Are you sure?"

"I've just eaten my weight in mashed potatoes. I should have enough energy left for a few questions."

"I just needed to know about the house's plumbing and electricity schematics so I can figure out how to extend them to the guesthouse."

"I think I have those in the office somewhere. I'll have to look them up, but it shouldn't be a problem. But..." He looks at her with an amused twinkle in his eye, "are you telling me you're going to do the rewiring and everything yourself?"

She laughs. "No. My friend Roan will do that. I just need the plans so he knows what he's working with."

"I see. And your friend Roan..."

"Restores old buildings and turns them into hotels, vacation homes and luxury cabins. In short, he's just what we need."

Bellamy nods, though it's short and a little wary.

"Trust me, we're in good hands with him."

Bellamy doesn't look entirely convinced, but before he can say anything, he's cut off by a drawn-out yawn, and Clarke has to smile.

"I think that's about it for you. Come on, off to bed. We can discuss the guesthouse tomorrow."

"You're very bossy, has anyone ever told you that before?"

Clarke's smile tightens. "That, and much worse."

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing. It's just... oddly maternal."

Clarke can only stare at Bellamy, who's currently struggling to his feet.

"Now that is something I've never heard."

He grins triumphantly. "Well, it's true. And kind of sweet."

He yawns again, while Clarke still stares.

"Also kind of annoying. But you made me dinner, so I'm not gonna complain."

With that, he staggers to the door, pausing only briefly to look back.

"Good night, Clarke."

His voice is soft and his smile looks like it costs him a lot of effort, and so Clarke smiles back despite her confusion.

_Maternal? Sweet?_

Well. It beats "bitchy" and "high-maintenance", she supposes.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With my big Secret Santa fic finished (which could use some attention, if anyone wanted to check it out....), I can finally return my attention to Cowboy!Bellamy, this time with 100% more cows.

The next day, Bellamy is once again gone, but a fresh pot of coffee and a sizable portion of leftover breakfast indicates a return to normal. And, Clarke discovers to her great delight when she walks past the dining table on her way to the porch, he laid out the plans she was requesting last night and put them there, complete with post-it so she knows the transparent folder is for her.

Smiling to herself, Clarke picks up the plastic folder and carries it outside with her. Taking a deep breath of the wood-fresh air and a hearty sip of coffee has quickly become her favourite morning ritual, and finally being able to get on with her work makes this morning all the more glorious.

Before long, Clarke has taken out her laptop and is completely immersed, the mild spring weather allowing her to sit outside without getting chilly. Once she's gone through everything Bellamy set out for her, she sends the plans to Roan, along with some measurements and pictures of the barn she took over the last few days – she knows how busy her friend usually is, and she wants him to be able to jump right into it as soon as he gets here.

Just as she's sent the material, her stomach growls loudly, and Clarke heads to the kitchen to make herself something to eat – only to freeze with her hand midway to the fridge as an idea occurs to her.

Bellamy went out hours ago and hasn't been back to grab something to eat, so he either took something along with him or he hasn't eaten in a very long time. On a whim, Clarke makes not one sandwich but a whole stack of them, buoyed by her productive morning and the success of last night's foray into being maternal. Once she's got enough sandwiches to feed at least a half a dozen hungry ranch hands, Clarke grabs a few cans of Coke and packs everything into a basket, feeling very nurturing indeed – and just a little silly too. Is she really going to bring Bellamy lunch like some diligent wife from the fifties? Would he even appreciate that? After all, he's been getting along just fine alone before she got here, so she can only assume he managed to keep himself fed.

Then again, she doesn't intend to make this a habit – it's just a nice gesture, nothing more.

Determinedly, Clarke lifts the basket and heads down to the cowshed. She's never been here before, since she's so far spent most of her time at the house and the old barn, and she should probaböy set some time aside to get acquainted with the place. Or maybe she could go for a ride again one of these days – although she doesn't feel comfortable riding out into unknown and dangerous territory on her own, and she doubts Bellamy has the time at the moment. Her outing will just have to wait.

For now, ambling down the gravel road to the cowshed makes for a nice little walk too, especially since the sun is now shining high and bright, and warm enough that Clarke shrugs out of her cardigan and continues in her shirt.

Lost in her thoughts, Clarke has almost reached the shed when she's stopped in her tracks by... a cow? She thinks it's a cow, but it definitely has horns. Do cows have horns? Or is that just bulls? And if so....

Clarke freezes, basket clutched in her hand, as the animal slowly turns its head to look at her. From this angle, the horns look even more intimidating, and Clarke frantically wonders if all the animals in Bellamy's herd have horns or just this one – and, in turn, if that means this one is a bull.

Then the animal starts trotting towards her, and Clarke decides that she can always ascertain its sex once she's safely out of its path.

Unfortunately, there's nothing around but shrubbery and a few young trees, and the beasst is still staring at her while slowly closing in. Trying not to panic, Clarke frantically looks around for a way out, or for something to distract the headstrong animal with, when her eyes fall on her own shirt and her blood freezes: It's bright red.

Without really thinking, Clarke rips the shirt over her head, balls it up, and throws it as far away from her as she can. And it actually works: The animal changes course for the little red ball as it unfolds and sails to the floor, and Clarke gathers up all her courage and sprints past it towards the cowshed.

Cutting around the corner, she finds the open barn door and throws herself inside – she's safe. She closes her eyes for a moment, leans back against the nearest wall and takes a long, shivering breath. She's alive. She did not get mauled by a rampaging bull after all.

She's still breathing in deeply and celebrating her new lease on life when someone clears their throat.

“Clarke? What are you doing?”

With a startled shriek, Clarke opens her eyes – to find herself facing not just Bellamy, but three strangers as well. There are two women and a man standing beside Bellamy, all looking at her with similarly puzzled expressions, and Clarke suddenly wonders if all that panic about the bull (which might have been a harmless cow after all) was _really_ justified.

“I... there was a bull.” She hopes that will be explanation enough, but judging by everyone's incredulous expressions, it isn't. “It blocked my path. I thought it was going to attack me.”

“So you decided to distract it by taking off your shirt?” The man standing next to Bellamy asks sceptically, scratching his head through the woollen beanie pulled over his dark hair.

Clarke shrieks again as she remembers the one thing she forgot in her haste to get away from the animal: She's standing before Bellamy and his farm workers in nothing more than her lacy black bra. With trembling hands, she undoes the knot of her sweater where she slung it around her hips, then quickly tugs it over her head, face flaming in embarrassment, before she explains.

“I was wearing a red shirt.”

It takes a few silent moments before the penny drops and understanding dawns on the faces around her.

“Oh wow,” breathes a red-haired woman holding a pitchfork, “she really is a city girl.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy says patiently, his lips twitching, “the whole thing about bulls getting aggressive when they see the color red is just a myth.”

“It is,” she repeats flatly, incredulously. "It is?!"

He nods, and behind him, the three ranchhands break into raucous laughter. To his credit, Bellamy doesn't join in, although it seems to cost him quite a bit of effort to stifle a laugh of his own.

"Well," Clarke grumbles, "how was I supposed to know that?"

"You're right, it's none of your fault. And hey," again that twitch of the lips, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes that she's seen on their day in town, "at least you saved yourself."

He winks at her, then turns towards the small group behind him, who are still doubled over laughing.

“Alright, that's enough.” Bellamy's voice is stern and quite clearly supposed to indicate that this is him putting his foot down as their boss, but there's a smile tugging at his lips when he picks up the basket and hands it to her.

“I'll say. Or I turn straight around and nobody here gets a sandwich.”

“There are sandwiches?” That's the redhead who called her a city girl, curiously trying to peer into her basket.

“Yes, there are. I thought since you've been hard at work, you would appreciate a bite to eat.”

“And we do.” The blonde woman says forcefully as she steps forward and offers her hand to Clarke for a firm squeeze. “I'm Harper.”

Clarke wonders briefly if that's a first or last name, then remembers seeing a Harper McIntyre in Bellamy's personnel list. First name it is then.

“Clarke. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too!” Harper lets go of her hand but leans closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. “We've all been curious to meet Bellamy's new girlfriend, but since he practically shut you in up at the house....”

“Oh, I was just busy with... wait, I'm not his girlfriend!”

It's hard to tell who's more mortified by the mix-up, Clarke or Harper. One person, however, is entirely too amused. Bellamy comes over, leans close to Harper with a smug grin, and gloats:

“And that's why you need to stop listening to Jasper's gossip.”

“Jasper already had time to gossip about me?” Clarke should have known, after all, she saw how quickly word spread about her arrival in town. She just didn't expect it to spread out here as well.

“Oh, Jasper sent a group text the moment you entered his shop.”

Clarke can only gape at the woman, not sure if she's joking. But the man who steps up now to snatch a sandwich from her basket confirms the story with a matter-of-fact nod.

“Jasper's quick like that.” He starts to unpack the sandwich, then pauses and holds out his hand to her. “Nathan Miller, foreman. Sorry we laughed at you."

Clarke can only nod dumbly, too overwhelmed by the whole situation and by the man's honest, straightforward apology.

"Sure, yeah. That's... It's okay."

Lastly, the redhead introduces herself as Zoe Monroe while Nathan - Miller? she thinks she heard Bellamy refer to him by his last name - carries over a wooden crate and puts it on the floor for her to sit down.

"You staying for a sandwich? Your timing's great. The boss was just about to give us a break."

Bellamy mumbles something that indicates he was not about to do any such thing, but he doesn't protest when everyone sits down on crates and the bench by the side of the shed.

“So, boss,” the apparently fearless Zoe Monroe asks, “if she's not you girlfriend, what's Clarke doing here?”

That promptly earns her an elbow in the side from Harper, but the redhead is not to be shamed into silence.

“What?”, she whispers audibly, “it's not like we weren't all wondering.”

Harper looks embarrassed for her friend, and Clarke decides to intervene on her behalf.

“I'm his business partner. My Dad invested in the ranch, and now I'm investing in Bellamy's new project. It's...” she breaks off, looking over at Bellamy, who's watching the exchange with a stony expression. If he hasn't told his employees yet about the new changes, he might want to do so himself. “Perhaps Bellamy should tell you about that.”

Bellamy gives her a slight nod, then swallows the bite of sandwich he's been chewing and proclaims: “We're opening a guesthouse.”

The silence that ensues is full of questions, but Bellamy returns his attention to his sandwich, apparently satisfied with the explanation. Clarke takes pity on the confused ranch hands.

“It's a profitable business venture for farms such as this one. People rent a room or apartment for the holidays. They can enjoy the beautiful scenery and get a glimpse at authentic country life. It's very popular.”

The little group doesn't seem entirely convinced, and it falls to Harper, apparently the only one out of the bunch with something approaching manners, to politely bridge the awkward silence.

“Sounds like a challenging project.”

“It's going to be great, you'll see.”

To Clarke's slight disappointment, that doesn't really prompt much of a reaction – Harper nods politely, but Zoe Monroe and Miller are watching her somewhat warily.

Thankfully, Bellamy comes to her rescue.

“It won't change anything for you guys.”

The workers' relief is palpable, and Clarke finally understands their reluctance: They were afraid that the new project would add to their workload, which has got to be heavy already.

She'll just have to make sure it won't. She's here to save the ranch, after all – and that means she's not just responsible for Bellamy, but for the people who work for him as well.

With the whole situation cleared up and the group's worries dispelled, everyone tucks into their sandwiches eagerly, and the rest of their short lunch break passes in silence. Clarke barely even finds time to dwell on her humiliating encounter with her bovine enemy – there's work to be done, and lots of it. Apparently, Bellamy and his crew are not picky about who they draft for help: Miller makes smalltalk exactly long enough to find out that she doesn't really have anything urgent to do until Roan gets here the next day, then promptly ropes her into helping out at the cowshed. Bellamy makes a glib remark about her lack of experience but doesn't otherwise protest, and soon Clarke is shovelling feed into the troughs while Bellamy barks orders.

By the end of the afternoon, Clarke is a smelly, dirty, aching mess. But as she walks back up to the house with the others, Clarke is filled with the immense satisfaction of a day filled with hard, honest work – and for the first time in a long time, that satisfaction doesn't feel hollow and irrelevant. It feels like being alive.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone please tell me if I use terribly wrong or outdated terminology - agriculture is not one of my strong fields, vocabulary-wise. Also, once again, I have no idea how farms work.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time Clarke's hotshot architect friend arrives with much fanfare, Bellamy's already more than a little wary of the man. Clarke actually dragged him up from the cowshed just to say hello and welcome their visitor, as if he was a royal guest and not a glorified contractor. And the moment the man steps out of a gleaming, not at all country-ready white SUV, Bellamy knows he's not going to like him.

The man is sporting trendy sunglasses, artfully tousled hair and a self-satisfied little smirk. His clothes are probably supposed to look earthy and old-fashioned (he thinks he read the word “vintage” for the style in one of the gossip mags Octavia left behind) but really just looks stupid in Bellamy's opinion. Because while the boots, jeans, frayed shirt and leather jacket the man is wearing should be practical attire for a trip to the country, the (no doubt horrendously expensive) clothes seem to have been chosen for effect rather than functionality: The light-brown boots are spotless and laced up haphazardly, and look just as brand-new as the leather belt with the shiny brass buckle. The jeans are ripped in places where Bellamy has never managed to damage any of his  _own_ work-worn pairs, which leads him to conclude that the tears and scratches must have been placed there on purpose to look  _edgy,_ and the same probably goes for the frayed edges of the white shirt that stretches over Roan's sculpted abs. The leather jacket at least looks like it would withstand a downpour – but right now, the sun is out, and the man will be sweating like crazy in the black leather within minutes. That at least is a satisfying thought, and cheers Bellamy up for a second – although only until the man opens his mouth.

“Well fuck me, Griffin, I thought you were joking when you described the old shack.” He makes a dismissive motion towards either the barn or the house itself, and Bellamy takes offense at both even though he himself has been toying with the idea of tearing the barn down.

“Not one bit.” Clarke is all smiles as she walks towards the man. “And hello to you too.”

Bellamy watches incredulously when Clarke actually closes her arms around their visitor in a loose hug, then snickers to himself as they both breathe a kiss past the other's cheek without actually touching - this has got to be the most pretentious greeting he's ever seen.

Pulling back, Clarke turns and gestures toward Bellamy.

“Roan, meet my business partner and the owner of this beautiful farm – Bellamy Blake.”

The introduction rolls off her tongue with practised charm, and suddenly there's a subtle shift in her voice and posture, a sudden polish that reminds him of the Clarke he first said hello to, the Clarke he considered an enemy before she turned into an ally.

Luckily, that Clarke disappears again as soon as Bellamy has dutifully shaken their visitor's hand and led him over to the barn. As soon as Roan steps inside, Clarke starts laying out the ideas she came up with, pointing this way and that and talking about rooms and suites and an open kitchen and dining area and throwing around phrases like “country with a twist” and “sleek meets rustic” that sound like a whole lot of bullshit to Bellamy. But Roan is listening intently and Clarke's cheeks are flushed as she talks and gestures, and there's such an enormous wave of energy and determination rolling off her that Bellamy can't help but be enchanted by it.

Before long, Clarke and her friend are completely absorbed in walking this way and that, Roan lecturing about statics and form versus function and Clarke nodding along. Neither of them spares him so much as a single glance, and Bellamy briefly wonders if he should remind them that it's _his_ property they're on, _his_ barn they're about to turn upside down.

He grudgingly has to admit, however, that Clarke's friend seems to know what he's talking about. He's tapping the old wooden beams with competent movements, listening for any hollows or instabilities and giving Clarke a satisfied nod when he's finished his appraisal. They return to where Bellamy is still standing in the middle of the barn and feeling increasingly stupid. But Clarke does make it a point to stand right next to him, most likely to present a picture of unity as Roan delivers his verdict, and he feels a little reassured by that.

“You were right, the structure itself is sturdy. It'll be a challenge, but....” Beside him, Clarke seems to hold her breath in anticipation of the man's next words, and while Bellamy has to fight the urge to roll his eyes at the dramatics, he can't help but feel a little anxious himself. If Clarke thinks this man is their ticket to success, he'd better be willing to help them. “I can work with this.”

Clarke actually shrieks and launches herself at the other man to hug him tightly, and Bellamy once again feels like rolling his eyes even though rationally, he knows he should share her joy. The only thing he can focus on, however, is Roan's smug grin and the casually familiar way he lays his hand on Clarke's lower back when he leads her to some place where apparently the remodelling might get tricky.

Within seconds, Bellamy's presence is once again all but forgotten, and he's pretty sure they don't even notice when he steps out of the barn and heads back to his actual work. It's better this way – he does have a lot of work to do with reduced manpower since he gave Monroe and Harper the day off, and it's not like Clarke and her friend need him. Still, there's a hint of annoyance gnawing at him that he doesn't want to think about but that still prompts him to urge his horse on with more force than necessary and to holler at the poor cows he's driving out to the paddock until Miller asks if he intends to give them all hearing loss.

But a morning's worth of hard work helps blow off some of the steam that has, inexplicably, built up within him. By the time Miller leaves to pick up some feed that was erroneously delivered to one of his neighbours, Bellamy isn't even thinking about what Clarke and her friend are doing up at the barn. And when he decides that right now is the perfect afternoon to go out checking the fences and Clarke's just going to have to help out since Miller will be gone for the afternoon – well, that's just the sensible and long-overdue decision to finally tackle some of the work that has been left unattended to. He doesn't allow himself to question the validity of that decision, even when he looks up to see the morning's sun disappear behind rapidly darkening clouds. The fences need mending, and he needs Clarke to help.

He throws some tools, wooden posts and planks into the back of his truck, drives up to the barn and stomps inside, noting with a mixture of astonishment and appreciation that Clarke and her friend are still where he left them hours ago, bent over two laptops and the plans he gave her. The loud bang of the door when he opens it a little too forcefully visibly startles them both, but Bellamy doesn't apologize for barging in.

“Got your boots on, Princess?”

Instead of replying, Clarke only looks pointedly at her feet, clad in the sturdy, warm boots they bought her in town. Beside her, Roan raises an eyebrow questioningly, but Bellamy ignores him.

“Good. There's _real_ work to be done, and I need a pair of hands. Let's go.”

“Are you serious?” Now Roan does interject, but Bellamy won't be diverted from his plan, and Clarke seems to understand. She turns to her friend with an apologetic expression.

“I'll check it out, see if I can help. If you need anything, I've got my phone with me.”

Bellamy wonders if he should tell her that she won't have reception where they're going, but decides against it. Clarke's friend is a grown man, he can keep himself occupied alone for a few hours.

He strides out of the barn instead, and hearing Clarke fall into step behind him, Bellamy heads straight for the truck and gets in. Clarke pauses for a second, looking like she's about to say something, before she apparently decides otherwise and gets in the car as well.

“So, what is this urgent project you need help with?”

“Fencing.”

“Fencing?” Clarke sounds – and looks, he notices with a quick sideways glance – absolutely flabbergasted. “As in swords and masks?”

“As in, we need to repair some fences before the cows get out.”

“Oh.”

He's tempted to delight in the embarrassment swinging in that one syllable, but she did follow through on her promise to help him when he needed it, so he feels it would be wrong to tease her now. Instead he explains.

“I'm sorry about dragging you away from your work with Roan. But I gave Harper and Monroe the day off after all the overtime they put in recently, and Miller is picking up some feed. So I'm a little shortstaffed today.”

He shoots her a quick, apologetic smile, and watches the tight, annoyed line of her lips ease up.

“It's no big deal. I said I wanted to help, didn't I? And Roan will no doubt be busy developing his vision for the remodel, I'd only be in the way.”

“Vision, huh? That sounds ominous.”

Her laughter is the kind of bright thing he hasn't had nearly enough of lately, and he allows himself just a few seconds out of a rough week to let it wash over him.

“Don't worry. Roan's the best. If anyone can turn your old barn into a beautiful guest house, it's him.”

Instinct tells him to ask how much that will cost, if he can afford it at all, or if it wouldn't be cheaper to just do the whole remodel himself.

“And before you can ask: Yes, he's expensive. And yes, we can afford him. I'm taking care of it, okay?”

It's not usually Bellamy's style to let such statements stand unprobed, and a part of him is still worried and uneasy about the prospect of letting someone come in here and work for him without even asking to see the bill. But he's been taking care of everything by himself for a long, _long_ time, and it's so easy and tempting to lean back for once and let someone else take the wheel.

So he doesn't ask, only listens instead as Clarke gushes about hotels her friend has remodelled and turned into veritable palaces, to hear her speak of them. They soon reach the first damaged portion of the fence and jump right into work, their urgency only heightened by a wall of dark clouds looming in the east and moving steadily closer. Clarke listens intently to his instructions and then sets about carrying them out with admirable precision, making up for her lack of experience and physical strength with sheer determination.

They've soon fixed the first few posts and can move on to the next damaged section, and when that is fixed just as easily, Bellamy lets himself get lured into thinking that maybe, after the hell of the last few days, they'll be lucky today.

And that's when it starts to rain, just as they reach the third, and largest, damaged portion of the fence. And it's not a gentle spring shower either: The sky opens up and pours down on them when they're halfway through the work, and Bellamy wonders if he should call the whole thing off and head back, not in the least because he should at least _try_ and not kill his new business partner within her first month. But if they don't get this part fixed soon, the damage will spread, the crooked posts pulling down others with them.

Clarke seems just as determined to continue, carrying on with the tasks he showed her as if trying to hold her own against nature herself.

And after all, this is what rain jackets are for, why they went to town and bought her a good, waterproof outdoor jacket... Except that's not what she's wearing: Clarke is in the thin, flimsy white jacket she wore when she first got here, and the jacket in question is completely soaked, as is her hair because of course the jacket doesn't even have a hood. Not only is she drenched to the bone, but she seems to be shivering, and Bellamy didn't notice because he was too preoccupied with a damn fence.

“Get in the car!” He snaps at her, but the wind picks up just then and he has to repeat the order to be heard over the lashing rain. “Get your ass in the car and turn on the heat!”, he bellows, and Clarke looks a little bewildered but does as he says.

Bellamy finishes hammering in the last two posts with a strength heightened by anger – at Clarke for going out without a proper jacket, at the rain, at this shit week, at his mother for deciding to move to Montana, of all places. But if he's honest, he's mostly pissed at himself for dragging her out here in this weather, for reasons he doesn't altogether understand himself.

The second he's finished, he throws the hammer on the back of the truck, gets in and all but barks at Clarke:

“Where the hell is your jacket?”

“I'm wearing a jacket.” Her lips are blue as she says it, he can actually hear her teeth chatter, and the sound enrages him even more, causing him to jam the key in the ignition with a lot more force than necessary.

“The one that's actually somewhat waterproof! Dammit Clarke, you could catch pneumonia prancing around in that.”

She's taken off the sodden jacket in question, but the shirt underneath is just as wet, and since they've covered quite some distance today, it'll take some time until they get back. He only hopes the heating will kick in soon, or he'll have a sick business partner on his hands on top of all the other stuff.

“I was going to take the other jacket, but you seemed in such a hurry, and I didn't want to slow us down.”

“Well, in the future, you take the other jacket. In fact, you should probably burn this one.”

He's racing down the narrow dirt road at a much higher speed than is altogether sensible, but it's either get home quickly or tell Clarke to take off her clothes right now, and he has a feeling she won't appreciate that. So he races on, axles groaning under the bumpy race and windshield wipers frantically battling the onslaught of rain, until the house finally comes into sight. He ushers Clarke inside with orders to get straight into the shower until she's warmed up, and straight into bed afterwards - he can only hope she listens and doesn't get sick.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, I did get something finished after all! This one features dorky flirting and a special guest.

Of course Clarke gets sick. It doesn't really worry her - that's what cold medicine is for after all. But when she asks Bellamy for some Dayquil, he returns instead with a steaming mug and a small brown bottle.

"Dayquil is only for when you're dead on your feet but don't have time to take a break. _You_ have time. So you're going to drink this hot lemon and honey stuff and take some of these sinus drops and then you're going straight back to bed."

Clarke considers putting up a fight. But he looks determined and she feels so goddamn weak, so Clarke lets him measure out the sinus drops on a spoon, swallows the bitter mouthful and washes it down with the admittedly delicious concoction.

Two hours later, Clarke is ready to beg for the stupid cold medicine. Her head is pounding, her limbs are aching, and she's simultaneously shivering and burning up. But as wretched as she feels, there's one thing Bellamy was right about, and which consoles her now: She really _can_ afford to stay in bed and just sleep off her cold. She doesn't have any meetings to attend, any presentations to prepare, any numbers to crunch.

So Clarke sets aside her laptop, curls up under her blanket, and goes to sleep.

She spends much of the next three days in the same manner and gets bored after about half that time, her monotonous days only interrupted when Bellamy comes by to check on her, bring her something to eat and drink, and generally be the biggest mother hen. It's adorable, but it also makes her feel a little guilty - after all, she knows how much he has on his plate even without playing nurse for her.

"I'm so sorry I'm keeping you from your work," she tells him on the second day, barely able to talk through wheezing coughs. "You don't have to do this, I can take care of myself."

"I highly doubt that. Besides," he looks a little bashful now, "it's my fault you got sick in the first place. If I hadn't made you go out and repair those fences..."

"Don't be ridiculous. It's not your fault I didn't think of grabbing a proper jacket."

"I didn't give you any time to think in the first place."

Clarke's protest is prevented by another bout of coughing, and by the time it stops, she's too exhausted to fight him on this anymore.

"Let's just agree that it's Montana's fault, alright?"

The fact that Bellamy agrees is a testament to how truly pitiful she must be looking right now.

"Alright." He studies her, his exasperated smile not enough to mask the clear worry in his eyes. "Are you sure you don't need a doctor? I could drive you into town right now, Miller's got things covered."

She shakes her head, but Bellamy seems unconvinced. He lifts a hand to her forehead instead, and Clarke shivers and leans into the wonderfully cool touch on her burning skin.

"You're burning up."

"It's called a fever, Bellamy," Clarke slurs. "And you can always call your sister and have her check it out. She probably deals with cow fever all the time."

"Funny," Bellamy grinds out, but he doesn't seem to appreciate her attempt at humour all that much. In fact, he actually storms out the room, and Clarke would call after him if she had enough of a voice left.

When Bellamy returns with a bucket and a bunch of towels slung over his arms, she's already dozing off.

"We're getting your temperature down right now."

Clarke watches with detached disinterest as he pulls the heavy blanket off her legs. He tries briefly to push up the legs of her pyjama pants, but is stopped by their tight cuffs. Brows furrowed, he looks at her apologetically.

"Sorry, Princess, those will have to go."

"I don't mind you taking off my clothes," she informs him breezily. "I just didn't think it would happen like this."

Bellamy freezes momentarily, his hands hovering over her shin.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that. And actually, I was hoping you'd be able to get the pants off yourself."

"Oh. Okay then," Clarke pipes.

Pushing down her sweat-sticky pants is a bit of a struggle, but Bellamy helps pulling them down the rest of the way once she's gotten them past her knees, then quickly covers everything above her knees with the blanket again. Still, she thinks she saw him peek at her bare legs just a second before he averted his eyes and kept them carefully trained on her feet, and finds herself unreasonably pleased with the knowledge - although of course, she can't be making much of an impression right now, even half-naked.

"I just want to point out that this is nowhere near my A-game."

"I figured." Bellamy calmly sets aside her pyjama pants, then dumps the two small towels slung over his arms into the bucket and swirls them around to soak up the water. When he takes her legs to lift them to the side, his hands are cold and wet, and Clarke yelps.

"Sorry." Bellamy quickly spreads out the third towel he brought, a big fluffy one he folds in half, then lays her legs on top of it.

Clarke watches with drowsy interest as he takes one of the towels out of the bucket, wrings it out a little and then proceeds to wrap her right calf in the wet towel. The very, very _cold_ towel, Clarke realises with a shriek when it touches her heated skin.

"It's cold!"

"It's lukewarm, actually - it just feels colder to you because you're so hot."

"Thanks, Bellamy. You're hot too."

"You are so going to regret saying those things tomorrow."

"Hah! What if I don't remember saying them tomorrow?" She says it like the joke's on him, somehow, but she's not entirely sure that's true.

"Then I'll kindly remind you."

Clarke gasps, half because she doesn't believe he'd do such a thing and half because he's just put a cold wet towel on her other leg.

"I can't believe you'd be this mean."

"Well, maybe if you're a good patient and keep those on for as long as needed I won't have to torture you by bringing this up again tomorrow." He finishes wrapping her other leg, then picks up the socks she's toed off and kicked off the edge of the bed and gently slides them over her bare feet.

"Oh, you mean if I'm a good girl you won't have to punish me?" Clarke drawls, smirking lasciviously, and Bellamy lifts a hand to his mouth to hide his laughter.

"For the sake of your own dignity, just stop talking."

Clarke wants to protest, out of principle more than because she actually disagrees – in fact, she's pretty sure he's right and she will regret those weird fever-induced jokes that are not her style _at all_. But mostly, she's getting sleepy again – her temperature is going down at a notable rate, and now that she's feeling a little more comfortable, there's nothing else she wants to do except sleep forever.

***

 

Bellamy's cute, homemade remedies work like a spell: Within a days, Clarke's fever goes down, and a few days later, she's doing much better.

By the time Clarke is well enough that Bellamy lets her migrate to the couch and sit up to work, Roan's calculation has arrived. It's as pricey as she expected, even though she knows he probably gave her a hefty discount. But she'll make it work, somehow...

And then, just as Clarke has almost returned to her old form and is working on a sensible payment plan for the barn renovation, her laptop gets hit with a virus and dies.

Luckily, Clarke has an IT specialist on speed dial.

Before breakfast the next morning Raven arrives with an extra laptop in tow. Never one to get distracted, Raven doesn't acknowledge Bellamy with more than a brief nod before getting to work on Clarke's laptop. Her friend won't respond to attempts at conversation until she's figured everything out, Clarke knows, so she downloads a new book on her Kindle and sits out on the terrace to read, Raven settling in next to her with her laptop.

After a stormy week, the sky has cleared up and is more brilliant than ever, and Clarke stretches like a contented cat in her lawn chair, enjoying the warm sun and the certainty that people will definitely pay for staying in a place this relaxing - she would.

Clarke is halfway through her book when Raven says offhandedly:

"That Roan dude is ripping you off."

"What?"

"I had to sort through the last few e-mail attachments you got to find the virus and I saw his calculation. That can't be his price."

"It is, and it could be much higher. This is not exactly the league Roan usually plays in. He's doing me a huge favor working on this project."

"That's great, but your farmer Blake is still not going to be able to afford that favor."

"No, he's not."

Raven looks at her like she's gone insane.

"But I am."

Raven's eyes widen in shock. "Fuck, Clarke, that's a lot of money, even for you."

Clarke shrugs. "What's the point of having money if I'm not going to do anything with it?"

Raven doesn't seem entirely satisfied with that answer.

"You've known this guy for what, three weeks? And you want to sink tens of thousands into his project?"

"Why not? You're the one who keeps telling me to be more spontaneous."

"That's not what I meant. And if you're that insistent on blowing 50.000 bucks, you could have just bought me a Ford Mustang like I've been asking you to for my last five birthdays."

"You always say you want a pony."

"Yeah," Raven grins. "A wild one with 200 PS."

Clarke shakes her head, laughing. "You're incorrigible."

"And still somehow a lot more sensible than you."

That makes Clarke's light mood evaporate. "I need this, Ray."

"That's what worries me."

"And so does Bellamy, so it's too late to back out of this anyway."

It's her final say on the issue, and Raven understands that, even if she continues to grumble under her breath. Of course, that doesn't stop her from trying to get in the last word.  

"How about this: I stay here a few days longer so I can be on standby if your computer acts up again and also see for myself what all the fuss is about when it comes to your Farmer Blake."

Clarke isn't sure she likes the idea of setting Raven loose on poor Bellamy, but she's learned over the years that any sign of resistance only makes her friend more determined. So she smiles sweetly and nods.

"That's a great idea! Roan will get here in a few days too, you can get to know him too while you're at it."

Raven makes a face, just as Clarke expected.

"I do know the guy, and I'm not terribly impressed. He was at your last birthday party, remember? He kept bragging about his cool job."

"He wasn't bragging. Somebody asked him what he was working on and he told them."

"Still. Isn't he friends with Lexa?"

"Not anymore." Clarke smiles joylessly. "It seems I'm not the only one she fucked over." Raven's face softens at the information - if there's one person the hacker likes even less than Roan, it's Clarke's ex. Luckily, Raven doesn't ask for specifics, and Clarke just breezes on. "I think you don't actually have a good reason to dislike him. You're just annoyed because you secretly think he's hot."

"Hot? The guy looks like a hipster straight out of _Gentrify your Life_ -magazine. I have better taste than _that_."

Clarke doesn't push the issue, but she still takes note of the faint blush on her friend's tan cheeks. Well, they'll see just how much her friends really dislike each other once Roan gets here.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Bellamy hates spending time in his tiny, overstuffed study at the best of times - he much prefers being outside, getting his hands dirty and breathing fresh air to staring at a computer screen. Having a stranger here to berate him on his apparently poor choices in communication infrastructure does not make the place any more inviting. And just when he's contemplating faking some cattle-related incident in order to get away, Octavia arrives, spots the woman currently camped out under his desk, and adopts a theatrically shocked expression. 

"You've taken in _another one_?" Octavia asks incredulously, if with an unmistakable hint of glee in her voice. "You know people are already talking, right? This sort of thing will make their heads explode. Especially if they see her." 

"Thanks," the "her" in question replies. "I'll take that as a compliment." 

"You absolutely should." The fact that it's near-impossible to make Octavia embarrassed about anything has long been a blight on Bellamy's existence, and today it makes him consider crawling under a desk too. 

"Can you not be quite so inappropriate please?" 

"I'm only trying to make your guest feel welcome," Octavia replies in her most innocent voice. 

"Technically, she's Clarke's guest," Bellamy corrects her without thinking, momentarily distracted by the pair of long legs protruding from under his desk. Too late, he realises his mistake. 

"Oh, so Clarke invites people over here now?" 

"That's sort of our entire business plan," Bellamy tries to play dumb, although he knows very well what Octavia is implying. The fact that he let a near-stranger move in and turn his life upside down is a font of never-ending amusement for his sister - and now the amount of attractive strangers living in his house and bossing him around seems to have doubled, and Bellamy isn't entirely sure how it happened.

One day Clarke was recovering and fighting him on his strictly ordered bed rest, the next she was waiting up for him in the kitchen to tell him she asked her friend Raven to come out and provide some IT support. The friend in question has been here less than a day, and already his living-room is strewn with gadgets and electronic devices, and Raven is currently yanking cables out of his router with scary ferocity. 

"When the fuck did you install this, 1995?" 

"Hey, my friend Monty installed this, and he's pretty good at that stuff." 

Raven shoots him a look that quite clearly says "how would _you_ know" - which, fair point. But then Clarke, who returned from making a call and is now standing beside him to peer under the desk too, coughs rather unsubtly and Raven seems to decide to play nice after all. 

"I'm not saying he didn't do a good job. But this stuff is ancient, it should have been given an overhaul a while ago." 

Come to think of it, Monty mentioned something along those lines at least a year ago - but back then, Bellamy couldn't spare the cash to invest in new electronics, and then Monty and Miller's relationship had picked up steam and Monty had been a little preoccupied with that. 

So here they are now, after Clarke's laptop crashed with the entirety of her plan for his future on it, and Raven has deemed his internet connection unsafe and outdated. 

"Alright, I'm bored. Tell me if anything interesting happens, I'm going for a ride," Octavia declares, blunt as ever. 

"Actually, could you take these two with you?" Raven's muffled voice comes from under the desk. "I could use some peace and quiet, and they've already been driving me crazy with their bickering this morning." 

"Bickering?" 

"Bellamy refuses to admit that his internet connection is crap," Clarke is quick to accuse.

"My internet connection works fine."

"It got me a virus. And it took Raven _four hours_ to install the necessary updates because your internet is slower than my Grandma in her AquaYoga class. And it's going to have to be a lot faster if you want to offer decent WiFi to your guests."

That's the first Bellamy is hearing of that plan. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Because people don't want to stay in hotels with crappy WiFi." 

"I thought the point of staying here would be to get away from everyday life - wouldn't that include smartphones and such?"

"Our guests will want to get away from the city for a few days, not get catapulted back to the Ice Age, Bellamy…" Clarke is clearly settling in for a long discussion.

"For the love of fuck, can you continue this somewhere else please!" Raven explodes, just when Bellamy had completely forgotten about her presence in the first place.

Bellamy briefly considers snapping back, just on principle. But Clarke laughs good-naturedly and obeys the command, pulling him out of the room with her. 

"Alright, alright! We're leaving, you nasty old grump!" 

"Well, she's a charmer," Bellamy can't keep himself from remarking, but Clarke only shrugs. 

"She could yell at me all day and I'd still love her. She's my best friend. Plus she's a genius, Mensa-membership and all that jazz."

Bellamy doesn't really know what to reply to this. Personally, he'll wait until he sees what she's done to his internet connection before he forms an opinion on Raven's capability. 

"In any case, it's a good thing she kicked us out. Now we can continue this discussion somewhere nicer than your dusty office."

"We can?" 

"Oh yes," Clarke nods determinedly. "We're going to ride out too. I've been dying to get out there again." 

Bellamy wants to protest, more out of habit than because he actually has a good reason. In fact, he has the whole afternoon free, since he got everything urgent out of the way this morning and told Miller to take care of the rest, expecting to have to expend much more time on the whole internet thing. Which, knowing Clarke, he probably will at some point anyway, because apparently his future guests will be expecting lightning-fast internet even out here in the middle of nowhere. 

But for now, he's got a free afternoon, the sun is shining, and Clarke is smiling expectantly. Why shouldn't he take advantage of that and do something fun for once?

"Alright," he says, feeling pathetically reckless, "let's get saddled up." 

Ten minutes later, they're ready to head out. Bellamy has to practically wrestle Clarke into her warm jacket, but he's not risking a repeat of their last outing. Clarke grumbles about it for a bit, but in the end, she puts the jacket on before hauling herself up on her horse and Bellamy, still glaring at her to make sure she actually follows his well-intentioned order, suddenly finds himself with a convenient view of her backside  at eye-level. Following the athletic arc of her leg as it swings over to the other side of the saddle, he can't quite bring himself to look away. The view itself isn't even that juicy, she's wearing jeans after all and not skin-tight leggings. But he suddenly remembers seeing those legs up close when he had to help her take off her pyjama pants to get down her fever. He couldn't enjoy the sight back then, too focused on making sure she'd get better, but apparently the memory stuck. And then of course there was the day she expected to be attacked by a raging bull, and saved herself by whipping off her shirt…  

"Bellamy? Are you coming or what?" 

Clarke's voice tears him out of his thoughts just before he can embarrass himself. Still, Bellamy feels his face heat up, uncomfortably aware of the way his blood seems to be pulsing faster already. 

He practically jumps on his horse and trots off, Clarke catching up with a somewhat bewildered expression. 

"I'm sorry you haven't been getting out much." He knows she hasn't, and judging by how much she loved their first excursion, she must have missed it. But riding out alone here, where she doesn't know the territory and most likely wouldn't be found for days if she fell off her horse, would be way too dangerous. Bellamy appreciates that she accepts this and doesn't cause him any further worry, but still he feels a little guilty now. 

"Don't worry about it. You have a lot of work to do, I don't expect you to babysit me all the time." She smiles, squints at the sun as it breaks through the wispy clouds. "But this really is nice." 

"I can show you some roads where it should be safe to ride out alone. And if you tell me where you're going and when you expect to be back, I think riding out alone shouldn't be a problem." 

"That would be great, thanks." She turns her head to shoot him a quick smile, and Bellamy could swear the spring sun is brightening even more. 

Clarke tips back her head, offering her face up to the warm sun, and closes her eyes with a sigh and a relaxed little smile on her face. Bellamy can't help but stare - somehow, knowing what a hurricane of a woman she normally is, seeing her this serene is all the more beautiful. Irrationally, he feels a surge of pride, as if he was somehow directly responsible for bringing her this bliss. Which is ridiculous, he knows. But he still keeps an eye out for any upcoming obstacles, poised and ready to grab on to her reins if the horse gets a little overexcited at being out after a long winter. 

After a while, though, she opens her eyes again and he relaxes and decides that she can handle things. 

"You're right, you know." She says, breaking the companionable silence. "This is what it's about out here, not free Wi-fi or designer light fixtures. I should remember that the next time Roan tries to talk me into leaving space for bigger TV screens in the guest room." 

The mention of Roan makes Bellamy's mood drop a little, although he still can't really tell why. He ignores it for the moment, because he needs the man and any personal dislike he night harbour towards him is going to take a backseat to his new project. Besides, Roan is in San Francisco, doing whatever it is people like him do - and Bellamy is out here in the sunshine with Clarke, who's smiling and enjoying herself and agreeing with him for once. 

 ***

 

Of course, the peace doesn't last long. For a few days, it seems like it might: Raven somehow manages to befriend Monty and conspire with him against Bellamy. The resulting chaos and possibly damage (it's hard to tell, really) to his phone socket and computer is stunning, but after about two days of carefully navigating through cables and gadgets, they declare that they're finished and restore everything to its former state. Bellamy has to admit, when he goes online to order some new special feed, the connection does seem to be working a little faster. 

So Raven, he decides, can stay. Which she seems to have already decided without his input anyway, for reasons not entirely clear to him. She doesn't seem like the type to enjoy the kind of rustic surroundings he has to offer, nor does she appear to need or even want a break from her everyday life. No, the much more likely explanation is that she took Clarke's computer mishap as an excuse to come and check up on her friend - and, most importantly, get an impression of the man she has decided to throw her lot in with. 

Their first dinner together confirms his suspicion: Raven practically stages a cross-examination, and only stops when she seems somewhat convinced that he's neither a con man nor a serial killer (both of which she seems to seriously consider, judging by her line of questioning). 

That alone, as annoying as it is, is enough to endear her to him. Anyone who would travel halfway across the country just to make sure their best friend is okay is someone he can get along with. 

Having Raven move in for an unspecified time doesn't really change much for him, because the energy she brings to the house is so much like Octavia's, all sharp wit and brash voice and iron will, and so it's a bit like having her live here again, except with much less fighting. 

In fact, Raven only adds to the subtle change that was already set in motion in his life with Clarke's decision to stay: there's a certain peaceful, familiar domesticity in setting out one or two more plates and mugs for breakfast, in returning from work outside to hear voices and laughter from the living-room and find a hot meal waiting for him - a gesture made all the more touching because neither Clarke nor Raven seem particularly domestic people to him, and he's definitely overheard Clarke telling Raven to google how to boil potatoes once, which makes him suspect that his own cooking skills probably outshine theirs. 

But after only about a week, he's already quite used to the novelty of it all, and perfectly content with it. In fact, when he enters the living-room one evening to find Raven and Monty bent over the disemboweled shell of a computer, and Clarke, Octavia and Lincoln sprawled on the couch to watch some movie about soccer, he has the sudden, chest-tightening feeling of looking at a family, gathered right here in his living-room. And after he's gotten some food from the kitchen and bullied Octavia out of his TV chair, Bellamy thinks that, surprisingly, he's okay with that. 

And then Roan arrives and everything almost falls apart.

Bellamy isn't entirely sure what exactly bugs him so much about the man. Maybe it's the carefully styled casualness. Maybe it's the fact that he feels like an echo from the kind of luxe, glamorous life Clarke must have lived before she decided to upend her life and move here, and a part of him is scared that seeing Roan will make her return to her senses and wonder what the hell she's doing here, hanging out with someone like him. Maybe it's that seeing Roan get ready to start work on the barn drives home the enormousness of what they're about to do, the reality that he's adding another business venture to his name when he's struggling with the one he already has. 

But when Roan first arrives, in one of those fancy, streamlined chrome trailers, there's no talk at all about the barn. Because Roan brought fish and is going to make _Sushi_ , apparently, and everyone acts like it's the most exciting thing that's ever happened here. Which, granted, isn't that far from the truth. But the fact that the man has the nerve to roll up to _him_ , purveyor of the finest steaks in the state, with a trunk full of raw fish… well, it's not making Bellamy inclined to dislike him any less. 

But Octavia gushes about the health benefits of salmon and Clarke starts fondly reminiscing about her favourite Sushi place in New York. The only one reacting to the plan with a modicum of good sense is Raven, who asks how Roan can be sure that the fish will still be fresh. But Clarke glares at her and Roan laughs and assures her that it is, completely unfazed, and Bellamy has the questionable pleasure of eating Sushi for the first time in his life. 

It's not _bad_ , he has to admit once he's managed to force himself to swallow a small piece. He has a professional appreciation for good quality food, and the fish Roan brought is definitely that. Still, he doesn't think slapping together a few of the bite-sized pieces, barely more than snacks, should warrant quite as much praise as Roan gets for it. 

But when he says as much to Octavia, he doesn't receive the sympathy he feels he is owed. 

"What exactly is your problem with Roan?" She asks and submerges the stack of plates Lincoln hands her in the dishwater. "He made us an awesome Sushi dinner." 

"I make Clarke and Raven breakfast every morning, and I don't see anyone fawning over me for it." 

"Would you like them to be fawning over you?" Octavia asks patronisingly. 

"Of course not," Bellamy snaps, realising too late that he just made himself vulnerable to a lot more of his sister's teasing.

Irritated, he grabs the shot glasses Roan ordered him to get for the Sake (before making a smarmy comment about how, "originally, it should be enjoyed out of earthenware cups") and storms back into the living-room… only to stumble right into the end of a conversation he was clearly not meant to hear. 

"I mean, it's your money…" Roan says, unusually hesitant, only to be cut off heatedly by Raven. 

"I still think you should tell him!" 

The look on their faces when Bellamy steps into sight tells him immediately who they're talking about.

"Tell him what?" He asks, trying to ignore the sudden sinking feeling in his stomach, the onslaught of nightmarish scenarios playing out in his head. Most likely, it's something to do with the guesthouse - they won't be able to convert the barn after all, or worse, Clarke's calculations were off and the whole thing will ruin him after all. The fear makes his voice hard and his movements too forceful when he slams down the shot glasses and repeats the question, eyes firmly on Clarke. "Tell me what, Clarke?" 

And when she doesn't answer: "You _were_ talking about me, right?" 

Clarke is still silently frozen in place, impervious even to Bellamy's pleading look.

Finally, when Bellamy has to clench his hands to keep them from shaking, Raven bursts out:

"Clarke wants to pay Roan out of her own pocket. You couldn't afford him otherwise." Clarke makes a noise of protest, but Raven holds her angry gaze. "I'm sorry babe. I know you think it was for the best but… he deserves to know." 

Roan looks profoundly uncomfortable but at least has the grace to meet his eyes. 

"I am making you the best offer I can… but you need to sort this out first." It's the first thing he said that Bellamy agrees with, and that realisation is enough to startle him out of his shock. 

"So how much money are we talking about here?" 

The number Clarke says, voice unusually small, makes his ears ring - and then roar with rushing blood as his pulse picks up. 

"And you weren't going to tell me?" 

"I knew you couldn't afford it, and I was afraid you'd say No." 

Bellamy barely even registers Roan and Raven getting up and quietly sneaking off to the kitchen. 

"You're damn right I would have said No! I don't want to owe anyone that kind of money." 

"You're going to have to." Clarke seems to have got her bearing now, because her voice is steady once more. "Fact is, you can't do this on your own. You need the help." 

"That should have been my decision to make." Bellamy can still feel the anger bubbling eneath his skin, the feeling of  betrayal that he doesn't fully understand himself. But he suddenly remembers a morning in the barn, a sweaty, dust-covered Clarke beaming up at him: _You're just going to have to trust me._  

And he did. 

"And what would you have decided?" 

He would have refused, he knows with absolute clarity, and Clarke knows it too. "You wouldn't have taken the money. And then you couldn't build the guest house." 

Then maybe I shouldn't, Bellamy wants to blurt out, but he can't quite bring himself to. Because the thing is, he _wants_ to do it. Wants to have a shot at creating something new instead of only ever fighting to keep the old alive. Foe the first time since his mother's death, his plans for the future didn't begin and end with "just keep going". Clarke gave him a glimpse at a different future, and he was so intoxicated by it that he didn't even remind himself that people like him don't get big, bright futures - or at he very least, that he should have asked to see the bill. 

"Would it really be so bad to take the money from me?" 

Would it? Of course he doesn't like the idea of being dependent on someone else's money, but then, that was already the case. He was already relying on Jake's goodwill. _Would_ it be so different to be relying on Clarke's? 

"I don't want us to give up before we've even started," Clarke continues, quiet and urgent, and he feels transported back to the morning she first presented the idea to him. Weeks have passed since then, but her determination, her faith in them and this project, hasn't wavered. "This could work, Bellamy. I know it can. You just need to give it a chance." 

He's still angry at her, still shaken from the encounter - and yet, that tiny little flame of hope she lit within him is still burning, flickering somewhere in the back of his mind. Bellamy doesn't want to give up either. 

"Alright. But no more secrets."

She nods her head eagerly. "I promise."

"So, is there any way I can pay Roan without you giving up your savings?"

Clarke thinks for a moment, then her face brightens. "There may be," she says, and whatever it is, he already knows he's going to try  it. "But you're going to have to come with me to New York." 

Bellamy shrugs. He just ate raw fish to suck up to the guy who's supposed to build his guest house. He'll brave New York too, if he has to. 

"Let's go to New York then." 

 


	10. Chapter 10

They book the next flight to New York, and as quickly as it has filled up with people, the house empties again. Roan decides to head back until Clarke and Bellamy have sorted out their finances, leaving behind his trailer in favor of flying out and giving Raven a ride to the airport, who goes to visit some important client in L.A. Miller, Octavia and Lincoln promise to take good care of the ranch, and suddenly Bellamy is sitting on a plane next to Clarke (first class due to some sort of bonus point program Clarke is part of) and wondering how the hell he went from feeling like he was trying to stand against the tide of failure all alone to having this many people somehow involved in his life.

It's all a little dizzying, really, and Bellamy stays mostly quiet for the first hour of the flight. Clarke apparently takes his thoughtful silence for nervousness, because she takes his hand in hers and squeezes it.

"It'll all work out. We'll get you your loan."

Bellamy turns his head to smile at her gratefully, but even as she smiles back, he sees that Clarke is nervous too. Not about his loan, perhaps - her voice is sure and steady when she reassures him they'll get it, and he believes her. But when she looks away and drops his hand to pick up her book again, her hands are shaking, and she never actually turns a page even after staring at it for a good fifteen minutes. Clearly, her thoughts are busy too.

"How are _you_ feeling?" He eventually asks, because if she manages to push aside her own worries to reassure him, he sure as hell can do the same for her.

She sets down the book slowly, stares ahead for another heartbeat before she answers.

"I'm... not sure." She takes a deep breath, then finally turns a little in her seat to face him. "Of course, I'm looking forward to seeing my Mom, and, well, there are some things I've missed about the city. But returning there means facing all the reasons I left, and I don't know if I'm ready for that."

He ponders her words for a moment, a confirmation of what he's long since suspected: That when she came to his house and decided to stay, it was about helping him and honouring her father as much as it was about fleeing her own life, and he can see how being forced to return to the very place she's been running from would be difficult. He suddenly feels guilty for putting her in this position - maybe it wouldn't have been so bad just to take her money?

But it's too late to change that now. All he can do is try and reassure her as best as he can.

"Maybe there are some things you can never be ready for. You'll just have to brace yourself, confront them head on, and try to make it through."

Clarke nods slowly. "Maybe you're right." Then she laughs, a reassuring sound. "Try telling a control freak that they'll have to wing it though." She makes a face. "Not our favourite strategy."

Bellamy tilts his head to the side. It's interesting that she thinks of herself this way - after all, so far Clarke has shown herself to be both the most spontaneous person he knows, and the one most adept at dealing with whatever life throws at her.

"I don't know," he voices his thoughts, "it seems to me like you're pretty good at winging it. And I'm sure you'll do a great job this weekend too."

Clarke's smile is even warmer than before, and her fingers stop nervously playing with the pages of her book.

"Let's hope you're right."

"I know I am," Bellamy replies, and it's true. If there's anyone he trusts to deal with all kinds of situations, it's her.

Beside him, Clarke takes another sip of her mimosa and opens her book again - and this time, she actually turns the pages as she immerses herself in her reading.

***

  
The flight passes quickly and uneventfully, and Bellamy finds that, ensconced in comfortable seats and plied with gourmet food and excellent drinks, flying is a much more pleasant experience than Octavia made it sound when she reported from her travel adventures. But then, Octavia didn't fly first class when she celebrated her graduation with a backpacking trip, and Bellamy has to say, flying first class certainly makes up for having to wait until he's 31 to take his first plane trip.

But if he thought the flight was luxurious, it's nothing compared to the rest of Clarke's life. Because Clarke's life, it turns out, is all designer lofts and sleek office buildings and five-star restaurants and honestly, it's a little much.

It starts with the town car waiting for them at the airport, a sleek, black limousine with the softest leather seats and a little minibar because clearly, they haven't had enough to drink on the plane yet. Then there's a short stop at her office building, where she intends to pick up a few documents and say hello to her mother who turns out to be in a meeting. Griffin Incorporated's offices are an elegantly lit maze of corridors, bustling with eager, well-dressed assistants and flanked by spaceous private offices of the higher-ups where breathtaking views of the city are vying for attention with exotic modern art.

And then there's Clarke's _apartment_.

The thing that best sums up just how much everything about the apartment screams of thoughtless wealth is the fact that its dominating color is white - white rugs on the marble floor, white sofas, white kitchen surfaces, white and gold _throw pillows_ , for crying out loud. As someone who helped raise a child and whose daily work includes getting into contact with all kinds of dirt, the sheer idea of living in a completely white place seems like lunacy. And yet, Clarke's place is pristine - because, as the apartment no doubt intends to show, she can afford to have other people clean it for her, and to simply replace things when they get dirtied or damaged instead of having to turn them over and pray that they'll last another decade the way he's used to doing.

In that moment, he feels like they couldn't be more different. Suddenly, the prospect of moving among people to whom this kind of living seems perfectly normal feels overwhelming.

But before Bellamy can be thrown into an existential crisis by Clarke Griffin's interior design choices, something happens to distract him: At the other end of the living-room (which can only be described as "palatial" in its dimensions), a man suddenly appears through a door leading off to, presumably, the kitchen.

He's wearing a well-tailored, expensive-looking suit and walking around like he's perfectly at home in the apartment, which suggests that he's probably not breaking in, but Bellamy still doesn't take his eyes off the stranger as he calls over his shoulder to Clarke, who's still fiddling with her shoes and putting away their jackets in the entryway.

"Clarke? There's a man in your apartment."

"There is?" Clarke seems fairly unconcerned, but before he can question this, she must have looked up, because suddenly, she's racing past him to throw herself at the stranger, almost toppling him over in the process.

" _Wells_!" Her happy shriek is ear-piercing, but the man only laughs good-naturedly and closes his arms around her.

Bellamy wonders if he can find a reason to dislike him already.

"I didn't even know you were back from London! When did that happen? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, you didn't tell me you were coming back here! Raven texted me about it and ordered me to make sure your apartment was livable and had, I quote, "some fucking food in the fridge for once". And then she kept ranting about some guy named Roan?"

"Oh, right. He's my architect friend. They're definitely going to bang."

"So, lots of new people in your life, it seems," Wells probes gently, not-so-subtly looking in Bellamy's direction, and Clarke lets go of her friend to walk back to Bellamy, take his arm, and drag him over.

"Yes, alright, you nosy old gossip, I'll introduce you. This is Bellamy."

She says it with the panache and flair of a magician revealing his most exciting trick, which is definitely a weird experience (but also, judging by the flutter in Bellamy's stomach when she says his name, not altogether unpleasant).

"I figured," Wells says drily and extends a hand for Bellamy to shake. "It's nice to finally meet you."

He sounds like he really means it, warm and genuine, and Bellamy thinks that he might actually like this man – overlooking the fact, of course, that he's walking around Clarke's apartment like he owns the place.

While Bellamy is still grappling with this realisation, and wondering if it means he simply expected to dislike _everyone_ here, Clarke's phone dings. She looks at it, frowns, and then sighs a little.

"I'm sorry about having to rush you when we just got here, but my mother just texted me - she's expecting us for dinner in twenty minutes."

Clarke smiles apologetically.

"I would have preferred a nap too after the trip. But it's just a few minutes from here - if you want to change and freshen up a little, there's time."

She shows him to a bedroom down the hall, and just when Bellamy wants to ask where the apartment's bathroom is, he realises that he has his own, discreetly leading off from the room (which itself is obscenely big for a guestroom). Bellamy splashes some water on his face, brushes his teeth and half-heartedly attempts to tame his hair, then decides he's done. He didn't really plan on changing - he brought his suit, but he sure as hell won't wear it to dinner when he needs it for their bank appointment tomorrow.

He doesn't think it's a problem – his jeans and sweater are casual, sure, but they're nice and clean and should be good enough to wear to dinner, right?

But when Clarke emerges from her own room, she's wearing an actual dress, knee-length and cut pretty modestly but still leagues more elegant than what he's wearing.

Luckily, Clarke doesn't say anything, even when he pulls on his boots again while she slips into a pair of pumps. To be honest, he's not entirely sure why she feels the need to get so dolled up anyway - they're only going over to her mother's for lunch.

Except, he finds out one short (and, frankly, unnecessary) cab ride later, they're not. They're having dinner at a restaurant, an expensive one, all white tablecloths and hushed conversation, and the elegant dark-haired woman standing up to greet them at one of the tables clearly takes in his inappropriate outfit with one glance. She doesn't say anything, but that might just be ingrained politeness.

Because Clarke's mother, he's fairly sure within seconds of meeting her, must have decided to hate him before he's even done introducing himself.

"So, Mister Blake, you're the man my daughter has upended her entire life for."

Bellamy laughs, trying to play along to the pretense that she really is just teasing when he's pretty sure the mistrust behind her words is real.

"Hardly. I'm just the man who runs the farm your daughter upended her life for."

"It is a beautiful farm," Clarke chimes in, with a forced lightness in her voice that tells Bellamy she senses it too: Her mother doesn't trust him one bit.

"And yet it's in trouble."

Bellamy lives surrounded by people who don't believe in beating around the bush, but even in Ark, Montana, this kind of question about two minutes after they've been introduced would be considered rude.

"Not much longer," Clarke exclaims fiercely, we're going to grab this recession by the balls."

"Clarke," her mother tuts, and Bellamy spots a childish gleam of satisfaction in her eyes at having offended her mother. Still, it takes Mrs. Griffin's attention off of him for a moment, and Bellamy breathes a silent sigh of relief as the older woman takes a step back to study her daughter at length.

"You look well," she finally says, a softness in her voice that surprises Bellamy - somehow, her cool welcome to him made him think she'd be like this to her daughter, too. But there is genuine concern in the way she looks her up and down, and genuine relief in the realisation that her daughter is doing fine.

"Healthy," she continues her assessment, "like you're finally eating and sleeping like a normal person again."

The little flicker of pain on Clarke's face reminds him of what a wreck she was when she first arrived at his place - clearly, that had not gone unnoticed by her mother either. Now, Clarke could not look more different.

"Well, Bellamy feeds me steak every other day, and there's literally nothing but fresh air out there."

"Whatever it is, you're doing something right," Mrs. Griffin remarks, and after a quick smile in her daughter's direction, her eyes settle on Bellamy, a different look in them now: Puzzled and still a little mistrustful, but also, perhaps: grateful.

Dinner goes mostly smoothly after that. Clarke waxes poetic about the farm until Bellamy never wants to hear the words "rustic" and "unspoiled" again, and he only needs to provide additional information every once in a while. Then Mrs. Griffin reports on the latest goings-on at Griffin Incorporated and Clarke asks questions that Bellamy doesn't understand because they have a lot of those annoying business-buzzwords words in them, and then they're already ordering desert.

While Bellamy sticks to a classic slice of apple pie and Mrs Griffin chooses a fruit salad, Clarke orders a rich chocolate cake, and Mrs. Griffin's eyebrows shoot up on her forehead. Bellamy is tensing in his seat, ready to tear into her if she dares to say anything - but then she smiles softly, and Bellamy realises it wasn't judgment that caused her reaction but simple surprise. Clearly, it wasn't just sleep Clarke deprived herself of in her old life.

The little moment almost makes him form a more favourable opinion of the woman. Until the check is brought, that is, and tension flares up once again.

Because of course the waiter places the check down right in front of Bellamy, and as much as he's tried not to panic about what this luxurious food will cost him, at the thought of having to pay it for three people, his stomach clenches painfully.

He picks up the slim black booklet with trembling fingers, only to find his movement blocked by Clarke's hand on his.

"We'll split the bill", she says firmly at the waiter, and gets a barely concealed scowl in return.

"No," Bellamy says hastily, too loud and aggressive for the subdued atmosphere of the place. Face burning, he lowers his voice. "I can afford to pay for dinner."

"You shouldn't have to," Clarke hisses back.

"You're both invited, of course," her mother speaks up just then, soft and generous but with an authority that makes the waiter immediately snatch the bill away from Bellamy and hand it to her. "After all, we're celebrating the return of my prodigal daughter."

Bellamy is so relieved, he doesn't question if Mrs. Griffin couldn't have said that a little earlier. But beside him, Clarke glares at her mother coldly.

"I'm not returning, Mom. I'm visiting."

"Of course darling. But you're here now, that's all that matters."

Bellamy wants to let her have this, let her be happy to see her daughter and nothing else. But in that moment, all he can think is: What if Clarke really decides to return for good? What if she remembers how she _should_ be living and sends him back alone?

The prospect hurts more than it should.

***

 

The rest of the evening passes quietly. Clarke excuses herself to make a phone call and Bellamy goes over every detail he prepared for tomorrow until his head is pounding, then rewards himself with a long shower in Clarke's ridiculously luxurious guest bathroom. The shower has one of those multi-directional massage heads and mood lighting and radio and honestly, if that's her guest bathroom, he doesn't want to know what the master bathroom holds - a Jacuzzi?

Still, after steaming up the entire bathroom, Bellamy falls asleep without any trouble, and wakes up early and well-rested the next morning.

Clarke is already up, an unusual experience given that he usually heads out at least an hour before she even gets up. Which is a shame, really, because Clarke in the morning is quite a sight: all soft eyes and mussed hair, smiling at him as she cuts fresh strawberries into a bowl.

"Morning sleepyhead." She pauses as if listening to her own words, then laughs. "Damn it feels good to be the one to say that."

"You're free to get up early with me any time, Princess," he throws back, the teasing nickname fitting easily into tbeir banter - or so he thinks.

But Clarke's smile suddenly falters ever so slightly, and she turns back to the fridge a little too abruptly. By the time she turns back, her expression is serious – but then, she also starts talking about the upcoming meeting, so perhaps that's all there is to her sudden change in demeanor.

They go over what they're going to say one more time, divide up talking points – Bellamy is going to explain the ranch and its assets, Clarke their plan to open a guesthouse for so-called „agritourists“, as Clarke apparently read somewhere. Then it's time to get ready, and Bellamy puts on his suit, a little tight around the shoulders because he bought it a few years ago. Clarke appears from her room in a cream blazer, matching blouse, and a navy pencil skirt that makes his breath stutter for a moment.

“Wells says good luck,“ she says lightly, and the message jolts his thoughts back to their upcoming task.

If the offices at Griffin Incorporated are light and airy and full of bright little accents, Marcus Kane's office at Alpha Bank is the exact opposite. From the dark wood-panelled walls to the heavy upholstered leather chairs: Everything in here screams money, power and tradition – and none of it helps to ease his nerves.

And that's before he even meets Marcus Kane.

If meeting Clarke's mother was unpleasant, meeting Clarke's banker is a nightmare. Marcus Kane, Clarke unhelpfully informed him on the way over, is as tough as they come, and he can smell a bad loan application from a mile away. The man himself, when he finally arrives after letting them wait for a full fifteen minutes, does nothing to dispel the worry Clarke's words awoke in him.

Their appointment lasts an hour, during which Bellamy is mercilessly grilled on everything from his numbers going back ten years to his personal motivation to stick to organic farming instead of switching to more lucrative conventional production.

Clarke helps, of course, rattling off her business plan for the guesthouse to the very last detail. But it's Bellamy Kane keeps pinning with a piercing stare, keeps cutting off when he takes too long to get to the point with an answer, almost daring him to lose it and snap back. Bellamy manages to keep his cool, barely, but by the time they finally get out of Kane's office and the elevator doors close behind them, Bellamy feels like he's going to puke.

"I'm sorry," he says instead, meeting Clarke's eyes in the elevator's shiny brass-lined walls, "I blew it."

In the slightly distorted reflection on the door, Clarke's eyes widen.

"Are you kidding? He loves you."

"He grilled me for an _hour_."

"Exactly. Marcus is a busy man. You know how many people get an hour of his time?"

It takes a moment for her words to sink in. "So you think we'll get the loan?"

On the reflective elevator doors, Clarke's mouth stretches into a triumphant golden smile. "Yes. We'll get the loan."

"So what now?" Bellamy asks, a little stunned.

"Now," Clarke says as the doors open with a soft *ding*, "now we celebrate."

"If that means champagne and oysters, you're paying," Bellamy replies, startling himself with how easily he managed to joke about last night's humiliation.

" _Champagne and oysters_! That's fifth-date stuff," Clarke teases back, making him choke as he realizes what, exactly, champagne and oysters are known for. "And we're only on our second, remember? You'll have to settle for pizza."

Bellamy's stomach growls in response.

"Pizza sounds perfect."

Clarke beams again and pulls him along to the nearest subway station. Soon enough they're standing in a greasy pizza parlor that couldn't be more different from the sort of place that would serve champagne and oysters (he assumes, judging by last night's foray into the world of fine dining).

Clarke orders two gigantic slices and bites into hers voraciously, silk blouse and cream blazer be damned, and Bellamy thinks that maybe all his fears are unfounded: maybe under the polished exterior New York-Clarke isn't all that different from Ark, Montana-Clarke – and she might make a home for herself there after all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so awesome to be finally back to writing after being blocked for so long!   
> And yet, I worry: Is Abby too harsh on Bellamy? (If so, there will be an explanation. Probably.) Is Bellamy too dependent on Clarke? I'm honestly not sure.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not stop putting stuff in this chapter so now it has too many things and is honestly a bit of a mess, but I like it anyway. I think.  
> still an absolute mess though.

The pizza tastes amazing, and Clarke's detailed recap of all the things he did right during the meeting with Kane makes the experience that much more satisfying. By the time they're done eating, Bellamy's in such a good mood that he doesn't even protest when Clarke says she has to take a quick detour to her office. Sure, he's not crazy about awkwardly hanging around there while she works, not to mention the prospect of running into her mother again. But today, he'll follow her everywhere. Thanks to Clarke, he's another step closer to securing the future of the ranch. If she wants to celebrate that by working, he'll let her. And leave her alone if necessary, although he was sort of looking forward to being shown around the city by an actual New Yorker.

But instead of sitting down at her desk, all Clarke does is open a closet and take out a pair of bright pink running shoes, which she quickly exchanges for her high-heeled pumps.

"Alright, I'm ready to do all the touristy stuff you want to do," she says as she straightens up. "Where do you want to start?"

Bellamy can't really think of anything in particular off the top of his head - there are too many famous sights, and it's only slowly sinking in that he's actually in  _New York City_.

He shrugs a little helplessly – he's been way too focused on the morning's appointment to spend much thought on sightseeing destinations.

"I don't know, really.... There's so much."

Clarke ponders this for a moment, then a bright smile creeps onto her face.

"You're a history nerd, right?"

Well, he wouldn't call himself _that_ , but he has a sizable collection of books on history in his living-room - Greek and Roman antiquity, mostly, but a wide array of other eras as well. And when she asked about them, he may have launched into a little speech on the ingenuity and sophistication of ancient cultures... So maybe he can see where she got that idea.

Smiling, Clarke hooks an arm through his and leads him out of her office.

"I know just where to start," she announces.

And when they get off the subway at her designated stop, he has to admit, it's a good place to start: Battery Park, the very tip of the island of Manhattan, where there are still remains of the early settlement's fortifications as well as its very first immigration center, predating even the one on Ellis Island. Bellamy remembers these facts before they even get around to the plaques and signs explaining them, because he may not be properly prepared for this trip, but he still remembers the book about the history of New York City he read after he first met Jake. Perhaps, on some level, he had expected to visit the city someday – just not with the member of the Griffin family currently standing next to him.

From Battery Park and Clinton Castle at the waterfront they head to nearby Wall Street, then on to Saint Paul's Chapel, where George Washington's pew is still preserved. From there, it's a short way to City Hall and the iconic view of Brooklyn Bridge, and a much longer one zigzagging North through Chinatown and Little Italy, Tribeca and Greenwich Village and the Bowery. With the help of short subway trips, they make their way through historical sites, infamous crime dens and trendy neighbourhoods until everything sort of blurs together to make his head feel like it's about to burst with all the new impressions.

Still, there's one thing he's somehow more interested to see than any of the world-famous landmarks. So, when Clarke asks him what else he wants to see, he tells her.

She looks surprised, and for a moment he's afraid it was too much, inappropriate given that, at the end of the day, they're still only business partners. But then her expression clears and she nods, slowly.

After walking around the city for several hours, Bellamy doesn't even protest when Clarke hails a cab, a small luxury he would have otherwise deemed unnecessary. Besides, after only a relatively short ride they're walking again, entering Central Park from the Upper East Side and crossing it until they reach a stone balcony, overlooking a bustling little terrace.

This is where Clarke stops and leans over the railing with a rapt expression. “This is it. My favorite place in the city."

Bellamy can see the truth of it in the way she looks down on the clay-tiled piazza beneath them, the angel fountain marking its center, the street musicians and performers, the little pond at the far end. There's fondness in her eyes and, strongest since they got to the city, a sense of coming home.

"I used to come here to paint sometimes - there's always something or someone interesting to observe," she explains as they walk down the stairs and she steers them to an empty spot on the long stone bench surrounding the terrace. "But no matter how busy it gets, there's always this sense of serenity about this place. It was the one spot in the city where I'd feel truly at peace, before you."

Bellamy almost misses a step wondering if he misheard.

But Clarke is already correcting her little slip of the tongue. "I mean, before I came to Ark and got to live on the ranch." She says it smoothly, easily, but he likes to imagine that there's a little hint of a flush on her cheeks. "Which reminds me, we should come up with a name for the place. You can't just invite people to "The Ranch". It needs to have a certain ring to it."

"What about _Arkadia_?”

Clarke ponders his proposal. “It's a cute way to reference Ark, I guess.”

“Plus it evokes the concept of “Arkadia”, the pastoral utopia popular with Renaissance artists and writers? Jesus, Clarke, I thought you went to one of those expensive prep schools. Didn't they teach you that kind of stuff?”

“They probably did, but I always hated the history lessons.”

He's about to point out that “Arkadia” might have come up during art history as well, which as a painter she should at least be marginally interested in, when something occurs to him.

“I guess then I'm sorry for the last”, he looks at his watch, stomach plummeting, “five hours.”

It takes her a moment to understand, then she looks immediately alarmed. “Oh no, please, I had fun doing all that!”

“Really.” It's perhaps a bit mean of him to put her on the spot like this, but the thought that she hated everything they did today while he had the time of his life is threatening to spoil his good mood. “We haven't been to a single place built after the 19th century.”

“Yes, but I wasn't bored. Unlike my history teachers, you actually make this stuff sound interesting.” She smiles mischievously. “Plus, at least you're nice to look at while you ramble on about George Washington's preferred prayers or whatever that was at St. Paul's.”

Bellamy's brain slows down momentarily as he takes in the words, the smile and the teasing tone. Is Clarke.... _flirting_ with him? It seems unlikely – she's probably just giddy from their successful bank meeting this morning.

Still, he can feel his cheeks heating up, and even more so when Clarke takes his arm to pull him towards the lake, and on to a path running along it.

“Now come on, you nerd, you need to try the cinnamon rolls at Loeb's Boathouse. They are _sinful_.”

As hyperbolic as it may be, Clarke's description turns out to be accurate. Sitting on the stone bench by the lake, they wolf down their cinnamon rolls. Having worked up an appetite during all that walking, Bellamy is happy to just let Clarke talk as she throws around ideas for how to market the new name which, apparently, they just picked for the ranch.

Unfortunately, their afternoon is cut short by another phone call from Clarke's mother. It's short, but even through the phone Bellamy can hear the steely ring of Mrs. Griffin's voice – and at the end of the short conversation, Clarke sighs and says:

“Yes. We'll be there.”

He just hopes that, if “there” means another expensive restaurant, Mrs. Griffin will foot the bill again.

“I'm so sorry Bellamy, but we have to cut this short – my mom just informed me that she got us some last-minute tickets for a benefit gala at the Met."

Bellamy doesn't really know what to expect from a benefit, seeing as the closest thing to a charitable event he's ever attended is the annual bachelor's auction for the Ark Farmers' Association, so he just shrugs.

“Alright then, let's go to the thing.”

“Are you sure? It's probably going to be a super boring affair, but the tickets are fifty-thousand a seat and non-refundable, otherwise I wouldn't ask.”

“Fifty- _thousand_?” Bellamy croaks out, glad that he swallowed the last of his cinnamon roll just before. “What kind of _food_ are they serving?”

“Well, what's the point of being a patron to the arts if you don't sit at the tables where everyone can see you?” she says wrily, rolling her eyes fondly. “When it comes to charity, we're not exactly fans of subtlety around here. But the money really does go to the museum.”

“That's something I guess... Wait, does that mean the whole thing will be held _at_ the museum?”

Clarke smiles. “That's what it means.”

“So I get to spend an evening after hours at a museum.”

“Well, you won't get to wander around the whole place... but there will probably be some guided tours for the donors, perhaps even of some of the unopened exhibitions.”

“That sounds pretty cool, actually.”

"You sure? There will still be lots of boring speeches to sit through.”

"Even so, your mother wants you there, you should be there. She's family."

Clarke looks a little surprised, then she nods gratefully, and within the blink of an eye she's back to her "all business"-expression as she apparently identifies their next problem.

"I don't think your suit will be appropriate though."

"Why not? It's a suit, isn't it?"

"Yes, but the event is black tie. That means tux."

The last and only time Bellamy has worn a tuxedo was for his prom, and that was the one O's father married their mother in. The father in question didn't stick around long, but the tux was still at the back of the closet, and fit him with just a few adjustments. That doesn't help him much now though.

But Clarke already has an idea, and by the time they've made it to her apartment, Wells arrives simultaneously with not one but several plastic-bagged suits slung over his arm. (Tuxedoes, presumably.)

Bellamy isn't entirely sure the plan will work. Wells and he may be about the same height, but Bellamy is a bit broader than Clarke's friend, and he doubts he'll cut as good a figure as the other man in a suit, no matter how expensive. But apparently, he's in luck: as Wells explains good-naturedly, he still had one tux stored with his father that might fit.

"It's from that time I took a year off studying to figure out if I wanted to continue law or switch to archaeology and piss off my Dad," he explains with twinkling eyes. "I spent a lot of time at the gym that year."

And today, it seems, that time at the gym paid off: The tux in question fits Bellamy perfectly.

Clarke leaves to get dressed herself and Wells helps him attach the bow tie that goes with the tux. He even procures a handkerchief to fold and put into the front pocket and helps Bellamy properly shine his shoes so it's not quite as apparent that they're nowhere near he same quality as the suit. By the time he's done and looks in the bathroom mirror to fix his hair, Bellamy barely recognizes himself.

But if Bellamy looks unusually _dapper_ , Clarke, when she finally emerges from her room, looks like she stepped straight out of a fairytale.

She's wearing a floor-length, strapless gown that hugs her curves just right, in a deep midnight blue color that compliments her milky skin. There's even a train attached to it, a gauzy wisp with what must be tiny rhinestones sewn into it. The stones twinkle and glitter when she moves, and the effect makes it seem like she has her very own handful of stars following her around. 

She looks... beautiful. He's sure that, over the centuries, plenty of women have done so, and plenty of people have come up with much more poetic ways to describe it. But right now, the only word that comes to mind is this: Beautiful.

"Well," he eventually manages to croak out despite his dry throat, “now I'm really glad you made me wear a tux."

' _Super impressive, Bell,'_ mocks a very accurate Octavia-impression in his head, ' _way to turn up the charm.'_ He ignores it – Bellamy has no intention of _charming_ Clarke. He only wants her to have as much fun tonight as he had today. It's the least he can do.

"I'm starting to regret it!” Clarke's exclamation startles him, before she explains: “I'll have my thunder stolen by my own date!"

“I doubt that,” Bellamy says and, finally shaking him out of his daze, walks over and holds out his arm for her to take – that's what rich people do when they head to a gala, right? “I'm sure everyone will only have eyes for you tonight.”

Clarke smiles, a little startled – which, fair enough, he isn't exactly known for his suave compliments – then puts her hand on his arm. Behind her, Bellamy can see Wells mouth something like “ _smooth_ ”, but he chooses to ignore it.

“Let's go then. And no protests about taking a cab. I'm wearing four-inch heels, I'm not walking any more than necessary.”

Bellamy has no intention of protesting – right now, he's much too busy not imagining her wearing those four-inch heels and nothing else. The thought comes out of nowhere, and while he would be lying if he said he's _never_ had those kind of thoughts about her, he's also aware of how very, very misplaced they are, especially now that they're.one step further towards becoming business partners. So, as distracting as it is to have her so close, looking like Aphrodite reborn and smelling of perfume that seems to have been designed with the clear intention of driving him mad, he tries to push aside all those thoughts.

It's going to be a _long_ evening.

***

 

From the moment she set foot on the plane yesterday morning, Clarke has been nervous about this trip. She had no idea what it would do to her to come home, what sort of memories it would awaken.

So far, she can report, it's been strange but not as bad as expected. Sure, her mother immediately made allusions to her returning for good and then called after dinner specifically to argue that she and Bellamy apparently don't fit together, all because Bellamy got a little flustered about being asked to pay at that exorbitantly expensive restaurant. Which is ridiculous, of course - as Clarke explained, there's nothing going on between her and Bellamy, so the question of whether or not they would 'fit' isn't really relevant. But even so, assuming Bellamy can't handle her life because he's grown up under different circumstances is arrogant, ridiculous, and absolutely wrong. From what she's observed so far, Bellamy is taking the unfamiliar surroundings in stride, a little overwhelmed perhaps and definitely impatient with the many things he no doubt considers unnecessary about her lifestyle here. But he's doing a good job holding his own, and even enjoying himself - at least, he definitely did this afternoon, and still is, judging by the awed expression on his face when they walk up the hallowed steps to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Clarke herself can't quite look forward to the evening in the same way. Her mother didn't provide much information about who exactly is going to be here this evening, but as usual, she's sure it will be everyone worth knowing. Which means everyone she avoided those past months, and doesn't feel particularly enthusiastic about meeting right now. And if she's really unlucky, it will mean Lexa, whom she hasn't talked to since that ill-timed text that sent her straight to the nearest bottle of wine.

She's run into Lexa before after they broke up, but back then she was usually on a cocktail of whatever medication she managed to talk her doctor into prescribing her, not to mention numbed by insane hours. Now, she's sober and well-rested and has spent the last day taking a good long look at her life, and she's come to the conclusion that deciding to stay with Bellamy was the best decision she's made in a long time. But Lexa has always had a knack for making her question herself – what if meeting her will make her doubt again?

The thought makes her steps slow down and falter in front of the big entrance doors to the museum, and it takes the flash of a camera to pull her back to the present. The flash comes courtesy of a group of photographers huddled near the entrance, taking pictures of the guests as they enter the building. They were probably hired by the event's organizer in order to make the guests feel more important, set a good mood from the beginning to encourage their generosity. Still, there's a chance the photos will show up on the society pages or some gossip mag, and if they do, Clarke is sure as hell not going to look like she's still heartbroken over her break-up.

And just as she's struggling to pull herself togeher, to project a confidence she isn't sure she's feeling at the moment, a big hand closes around hers, and Bellamy leans in to whisper:

“You're not going to chicken out, are you? Because there's no way I'm going in there without you.”

Clarke smiles, but feels a flash of guilt for being so absorbed in her own thoughts. After all, if she's nervous about being here after she's grown up attending these kinds of functions, she can only imagine how intimidating it must be for him.

“I'm not.” She takes a deep breath, but doesn't let go of his hand. “Let's do this.”

“That's the spirit!” His smile quickly turns from reassuring to mischievous. “After all, you did face down a raging bull. This should be a piece of cake.”

Clarke bites down on her lip to stifle a laugh. “I will kick you with my nine-hundred-dollar-shoes.”

Bellamy turns his head to stare at her incredulously. "You're kidding, right?"

"Probably. Wouldn't want to risk damaging my Louboutins.” She smiles again, teasingly, and the cameras flash once more. She should probably stop and pose for them a moment, just to make sure that, if photos of the event appear somewhere, everyone can see that Griffin Incorporated was represented. But Bellamy is peering around the photographers into the museum, clearly impatient to get inside, and she decides that, tonight, Bellamy enjoying himself is more important than Griffin Incorporated.

With a quick, apologetic smile, she pulls him past the photographers and inside, where the entrance hall is already teeming with people, all dressed elegantly and wearing jewelry worth enough money to buy a small town with, probably. The staircase up to the balcony is decked out with fairy lights, bathing the stone steps in soft light and beckoning visitors to walk up to the balcony, where a sign informs them they will find a dance floor. This early, of course, there's no one dancing yet, as everyone is too busy greeting people and making sure to see and be seen – a game that, no doubt, she'll have to enter soon as well.

For now, Clarke gives their names to the hostess to double-check with the guest list, then holds out her clutch bag for the security guards to check. Taking Bellamy's hand once more, she pulls him along to the Sackler Wing, where her mother told her their seats were booked. They make their way through the Egyptian Art exhibition, past statues of long-gone pharaos, colourfully painted sarcophagi, and cases full of papyrus scrolls, their intricate hieroglyphs preserving stories from centuries ago. More than once, Bellamy stops to study an exhibit or read an informative plaque, and by the time they finally make it to their destination, Clarke has felt her phone buzz in her bag at least three times – no doubt her mother calling to ask where the hell they are.

But finally, they walk out into the high, glass-roofed hall that holds the Temple of Dendur, an Egyptian temple commissioned by Emperor Augustus in 1500 BC and dedicated to Isis and Osiris – information Bellamy reads out from the plaque by the doorway, before he actually looks up to the sandstone structure before him and falls silent.

The room is startlingly different from the gallery they just passed through. There are no glass showcases littered about the room, no paintings hanging on the walls. The entire room is dominated by the structure of the temple, made up of the altar building, the tall gate a few metres before it, and a terrace that used to overlook the Nile, the sacred river now represented by a shallow water basin encompassing the temple complex on three sides.

Their table is set up on the terrace, and the fact that they're going to be dining in the shadow of an ancient Egyptian temple seems to have overwhelmed him for the moment. Clarke has to pull him along once more, over a little walkway across the basin and on to the table where her mother is already waving so they can see her. Her assistant Jackson is sitting next to her with his husband, which means at least it won't just be her, Bellamy and her mother at their table.

Of course, it takes ages just to get there, because every few steps someone new comes up to ask her where she's been, all of them hunting for some juicy gossip, and Clarke has to answer their questions while bring as vague as possible and introduce Bellamy without making their gossip radars go off about him too.

By the time they get to their table and a waiter hands them both a glass of champagne, Clarke is ready to down hers in one gulp - but of course, that too would be noticed. She gives her mom a quick hug instead, then sits down at her assigned seat, pulling Bellamy down next to her.

Bellamy looks a little nervous about meeting her mother again after last night, but he manages to answer her questions about how he's enjoying New York politely enough, and the fact that her mother doesn't ask how the meeting about the loan went is, perhaps, an olive branch – although of course, Clarke wastes no time in telling her that the meeting went incredibly well and that Bellamy thoroughly impressed Marcus, and when her mother looks at Bellamy again after that information, Clarke can practically watch her reappraising him and adjusting her earlier judgment. By the time they quiet down for first of many, many speeches, Clarke feels almost reconciled.

As expected, the speeches are boring, but luckily, dinner is being served in between them and Clarke can time it so that she's still eating when another speech starts. Usually, she would use the time to surreptitiously look around the room and see who else is there, but tonight, she's always either staring at her plate or straight ahead to the little stage under the stone archway, trying to block out all of the faces around her.

Bellamy, apparently, is doing the opposite, although mostly by accident: Every time she glances over at him, she can see him looking up to the temple, and the only time he actually listens to one of the speeches is when a historian takes the stage to explain the significance of their extraordinary surroundings.

After that, he goes straight back to looking around, and apparently makes a discovery in the process, which he leans closer to share under his breath.

“There's a woman staring at you.”

Clarke subtly follows his eyes to a table near the edge of the stone terrace, and finds herself looking at the very person she was most afraid of meeting tonight, looking right back at them. Clarke quickly averts her eyes and turns back to Bellamy.

“That's my ex-girlfriend. We broke up a few weeks after my Dad died.”

With trembling hands, Clarke reaches for a slice of bread and starts slowly, meticulously tearing it apart, something to occupy her fidgety fingers while she sorts out what she's feeling right now. She's nervous, yes. But strangely, the shock she expected at seeing Lexa again, the torrent of emotion she was afraid to be drowning in, turns out to be nothing more than a trickle. There's a bit of nostalgia, a last lingering flash of hurt too, but mostly, Clarke thinks, there's that wistful-but-resigned feeling of looking at someone and knowing that they're no longer part of your life, and that it's better this way.

“Wanna give her something to stew over?” Bellamy asks, and before she can ask what he means, he's moved closer and placed his arm on the back of her chair – a casual but umistakeably possessive gesture. It doesn't take her more than a second to decide what her answer to his question is, then Clarke leans back and relaxes into his arm, warm against the cool skin exposed by her strapless dress.

Bellamy leans over one more, nuzzling her cheek before he whispers into her ear, low and rumbling:

“I bet she's really looking now.”

Then he presses a soft kiss to the edge of her jaw and she shivers and almost gets distracted from her goal because, well, it's hard to focus on anything that isn't the man sitting next to her in this moment. But she pulls herself together, just enough to surreptitiously glance over at Lexa's table once more – and to her endless, petty satisfaction, Lexa is indeed staring at them, glaring really, and even from across the room Clarke is sure she can see her clench her jaw with jealousy. Suddenly, she feels a giddy, childish sense of joy at this little game – she may be over Lexa, but apparently, she's not above a little bit of payback.

A wave of applause distracts her from her thoughts, and Clarke realises with a start that the speeches are over, people are getting to their feet, and her mother is looking at her suspiciously.

She gets up to her feet, feeling a twinge of regret to be moving out of the reach of Bellamy's arm.

“I think we'll take part in one of the tours – Bellamy's been itching to see more of the museum.”

With that, she takes his hand and pulls him away to where a small group is already starting to gather, waiting for a museum guide to take them under their wing. Now that she used the tour as an excuse to get away from the inquisition her mother will no doubt stage about their unexpectedly intimate behavior, Clarke figures she might as well actually go on the tour, even though they basically did nothing else but walk around all day, and that was on comfortable shoes. But Bellamy looks excited at the prospect, and the tour guide turns out to be actually quite entertainng.

By the time they've finished with not just the one but another tour as well, even taking a peek into a new exhibition currently under construction, her feet are killing her, and even Bellamy seems finally saturated with historical knowledge and agrees to a break.

Very conveniently, they're standing right in front of the elevator leading up to the roof garden, so that's where Clarke steers them. After hours inside the museum, surrounded by centuries-old artifacts, she's begun to feel somewhat entombed herself, so getting out into the open air, with a view of Central Park in full bloom below her, is just the thing right now. The rooftop garden has been beautifully decorated, the tiny fairy lights in the hedges creating a soft light without outshining the lights of the city all around, and luckily, it's not too crowded.  

Clarke takes a deep breath and makes it exactly as far as necessary: to the nearest bench, in a corner of the rooftop terrace that overlooks both the park and the skyline rising at its border. Sitting down, Clarke internally debates whether or not to take off her shoes when it occurs to her that she's wearing a floor-length gown and no one will notice anyway.

Well, not no one – Bellamy definitely notices, but only because she lets out a pained little groan followed by a sigh of relief once the heels are off, and he looks at her strangely.

“I took off my shoes.”

Bellamy chuckles, then looks a little guilty.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have made you take the tours after we've already spent all day walking around.”

Clarke waves his concern away dismissively. “Oh, don't worry. I'm just out of practice – I used to wear heels all the time, but I got so used to the comfortable boots.”

Bellamy chuckles, but his earnest expression remains as he sits down next to her.

“Seriously though, thank you for doing the tour with me. For this whole evening, actually – I know it's a chore for you, but I'm enjoying the hell out of it.”

“Really? I couldn't tell.”

He bumps her with his elbow, good-naturedly, and Clarke smiles fondly. To be honest, she's been having a lot more fun tonight than she expected to – there's just something about watching Bellamy stare at a stone tablet like it's some sort of magical object that is inherently entertaining.

“For what it's worth, I'm enjoying myself too.”

“Really? Despite seeing your ex?”

“That went better than I expected, honestly.” She grins as something occurs to her. “Seeing her jealous definitely helped, so thanks for that idea.”

“Was this the first time you saw her since you broke up?”

It's more than a little strange to be speaking to Bellamy about this – but then again, he brought up the subject, and seems generally interested to hear how she's doing.

“We ran into each other a few times after we broke up, but I always kept it short, and apart from one text, I haven't had any contact with her since I left.” She falls quiet, thinking, wondering how much to divulge, when Bellamy asks:

“Why did you break up?”

“Because she wasn't really willing to make compromises for me. She lived for her work back then, and probably still does. And I can't blame her, because she inherited her family's company when she was barely out of college and managed to run it successfully ever since, so there's a lot of weight on her shoulders. And it's not like I was ever particularly good at setting my work aside. But I still tried to, for her, and she... didn't. It was always my appointments that had to be rescheduled, my trips that had to be cut short, my problems that had to be talked about some other time. We had a deep and beautiful connection, but it just wasn't enough. She never put me first, and I don't think she ever would have. So I called it off, and tonight I think I realise it was one of the best decisions I ever made.”

The other being, of course, to stay in Ark, but she doesn't tell him that. 

“It was the right call. You deserve to be with someone who puts you first.“

He says it softly, earnestly, and Clarke knows he means it, and wonders how on earth she managed to find someone who, after knowing her for such a short time, is already so firmly on her side, so determined to see her happy.

The thought makes a strange, heavy warmth settle deep within her, and Clarke distracts herself by slipping her aching feet back into her shoes and getting to her feet.

“Come on, I'll show you which iconic buildings you can see from here.“

Walking slowly along the edge of the terrace, she points out iconic buildings, something she knows a little more about than ancient history, even if not all of her knowledge may be entirely historically correct. She tells him little anecdotes instead, urban legends she's picked up over the years, and once more Bellamy is listening with rapt attention – until suddenly, he isn't.

One moment, Bellamy seems distracted by something behind her, the next he's stepping closer, his hands coming up to cup her face.

“Don't panic,“ he says, which is somehow even more startling than the sudden movement... and then he's kissing her.

It's soft and searching at first, then growing a little more confident when she brings her arms up to curl them into his shirt at his waist and starts meeting the gentle movements of his lips with the stubborn pressure of her own, on instinct more than because her brain has actually caught up with what's going on. For now, all it knows is that she's being kissed, and she likes it.

And just when that irritating brain jumps into action after all and starts to question _why_ she's being kissed, it's already over.

Bellamy draws back, his lips leaving hers so softly and reluctantly she chases after them for one more fluttering heartbeat, then he steps back too and drops his hand as he observes:

"I think she saw us."

"What?" None of this is making any sense, which is strange because just a second ago, he was holding her and kissing her and _everything_ made sense, somehow, if perhaps not in the way it should.

"Your ex. I spotted her by the door and saw another chance to make her jealous.” A hint of worry creeps onto his face suddenly. “That was okay, right? It's just, you said that you enjoyed making her jealous earlier, so I figured you'd like to really make an impression.”

Clarke's stomach plummets. The only reason he kissed her was to help her make her ex-girlfriend jealous – but it's not the reason she kissed him back.

And, she realises in that moment, she's never going to tell him that. She's going to act like she simply played along the way she did earlier at the table when nothing could be further from the truth. Because on her end, that kiss had nothing to do with Lexa and everything with _him_ , and the best thing for him is not to know that. Because they can't even be tempted to _consider_ this, not when so much depends on them working together. Bellamy doesn't need her crushing on him because he's ridiculously hot and sweet and caring and the biggest nerd, he needs her to be there for him as his business partner. He needs her to make sure the guest house takes off and his ranch survives, and nothing else.

She steps back, her insides feeling like someone filled her up with sharp, heavy stones.

“Of course it was okay.”

She smiles, or at least she hopes that's what her face is doing, then turns away from him to head back inside, more because the movement gives her a chance to look away from him while she struggles to compose herself than because she actually wants to go back inside.

Luckily, a distraction presents itself just outside the door – a very useful distraction.

“Anya!” Clarke exclaims in her warmest tone as she steps up to the women in the black jumpsuit and killer heels, and just like that, she's back to her usual business-minded self, and the only thing that remains of that kiss is a faint tingling in her lips.

“There's someone I need to introduce you to." Pulling Bellamy along, she all but pushes him onto the other woman. "Bellamy is our company's latest discovery. He's producing organic, gourmet beef, and his steaks are to _die_ for.”

Anya shakes hands with them, and it's hard to tell because the woman has the worst case of resting bitch face Clarke has ever seen, but she thinks Anya may be warming up to them.

“Bellamy, Anya is an editor for the lifestyle and travel section of several influential magazines over here,” Clarke explains briefly, hoping he'll understand just how important a contact they're making for his business, then turns back to the other woman. “Bellamy is branching out into agritourism at the moment, and I don't want to spoil anything yet, but watch out for Arkadia Ranch and Guest House – I have a feeling your readers will love it.”

“What makes you think that? My readers aren't exactly “Ranch and Guest House” kind of people.”

“Ah, but this isn't any old guest house. It's designed by Roan Azgeda; he's taking an entire historical barn and converting it into luxury guestrooms. It's going to be an architectural gem, and the views are _breathtaking_. The whole place is just... it transforms you.”

“How?” Clearly, Anya is still sceptical.

“It gives you peace. After my father died, I was... not in a good place. But ever since I've spent some time there, I've been getting better. I'm grounded once more. “

Anya looks definitely interested, but Clarke doesn't want to push it too far – better leave her hanging for a bit, make her even more curious.

“I tell you what, as soon as it's done, we're having a big opening weekend – I'll send you an invite!"

With that and a bit of additional smalltalk, Clarke brings the conversation to a close, takes Bellamy's hand and breezes on, not sure exactly where she's headed, but sure, still, that she needs to get as far away from that roof terrace as possible, preferably somewhere with lots of people around to keep her from jumping him.

She doesn't get far, however, before Bellamy stops her, tugging her into an alcove between two marble statues.

“You don't need to do that.”

“Tell people about Arkadia? Maybe not, but it might save us a ton of money on publicity if we get the right people interested early on. And Anya's definitely an influencer. We'll want her talking about Arkadia.”

“But not like this. I don't need you to use Jake's death as a selling point. Arkadia is going to have to speak for itself. No sob stories.”

His expression is hard, and Clarke realises it really bothers him that she used such a personal angle to get Anya interested. Of course, that's exactly what they'll need to do to make a splash in a competitive market – but she'll fight that battle when the time comes. For now, there's something else she needs him to understand.

“It wasn't a sob story. It was the truth. I really was a wreck when I arrived, and Arkadia – well, the ranch – really did help me heal. _You_ did. So I'm going to use every trick in the book to make sure Arkadia is a hit.”

His expression softens again, and he shakes his head, resigned but, she hopes, on the same page as her once more.

“You're incredible, you know that?” There's something in his tone, in the way his eyes linger on her, that makes her heart stop, and she braces herself, waits for him to do something she'll really want and still have to shut down. But he just smiles softly and says: “Like a shark. A very well-dressed, very determined shark.”

Granted, as far as compliments go, this one is somewhat dubious – but the sentiment behind it is real, as is the admiration in his voice, and both, she thinks, could still get dangerous.

Luckily, the evening is winding to a close. Final toasts are being spoken, and people are starting to move to the exit in droves. Clarke and Bellamy fall in with the flood, only stopping briefly to say goodnight to her mother before they collapse into a cab and head the short way home to her Upper East Side apartment.

They both head straight to bed, beyond tired after their long day, but Clarke still finds it difficult to fall asleep. Too vivid is the memory of that moment on the roof, too painful the realisation of what she thought, _hoped_ it meant. And just for this one starlit night, she allows herself to indulge in a private game of “what if” as she drifts off to sleep.

Tomorrow, she tells herself, tomorrow she'll forget all about this, and they'll be nothing more than business partners again.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points to everyone who guesses where I shamelessly stole Clarke's dress. (It's very super not hard to guess.)


End file.
